


The lamb's thirst

by animal



Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Agressive Rey, Alternate Universe - Dystopia, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst with a Happy Ending, Ben Solo is fucking patient, Ben Solo's a serene and quiet stutterer, Ben Solo's the ultimate soft boi here, Defensive Rey, Eventual Smut, F/M, Mentions of Suicide, POV Rey, Rey Needs A Hug, Rey's a Guard, Rey's a little shit, Sharing a Bed, Socially awkward Rey, Strangers to Lovers, Trust Issues, angsty and sweet, but it's sunny, intimacy issues, mainly but we'll have Ben's too
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-21
Updated: 2018-09-16
Packaged: 2019-06-30 18:23:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 36,478
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15757227
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/animal/pseuds/animal
Summary: Rey thought she felt lonely in the presence of her two colleagues, but now that she's actually alone, now that she's the only Guard in charge of the station, in the middle of nowhere, she's starting to have a better grasp of the concept of loneliness.When she sees a silhouette walking far, far ahead on the side of the road one day, she first thinks she's hallucinating.





	1. A nest

**Author's Note:**

> Let's give this a try. 
> 
> Thank you so much for reading =)  
> I hope you enjoy.
> 
>  

                    

 

 

Everything is silent. 

 

Not quiet, not peaceful -although it looks like it.

 

 _Silent_ , like someone muted the sound of a TV. 

 

No bird chirping, no wind -no car in the distance. 

 

Rey can only hear the heat. It's deafening. 

 

 

 

All around the station is just white dirt under the sunlight; just a flat, blinding stretch of land.

  
At the very end of it toward the East, still waves of blues and greens hide the rest of a cool forest that spreads over the hills behind.

 

 

She imagines there's a river cutting through the trees there somewhere. 

 

She wouldn't know. She never went, not even once.

 

 

 

It's been twelve weeks now. 

 

 _Twelve whole weeks_ , and no replacement yet. 

 

 

She thought she felt lonely in the presence of her two colleagues, but now that she's  _actually_  alone, now that she's the only Guard in charge of the station, in the middle of nowhere, she's starting to better grasp the concept of loneliness.

 

 

At first, she prays she won't have to police any travelers.

 

Her training was a  _joke_ , more of a formality than truly meant to get her ready for the realities of her functions, as it's rather known that Guards really learn on the job. She doesn't mind it when she arrives here, as long as she has two other Guards with her -since the number minimum of Guards required for every station is of three. 

 

 

They're down to two the day she finds Zue dead in her cabin. 

 

She feels nothing on the moment, she just reports it.

Zue's body is taken away the next day.

 

Today, she usually winces at the thought.

She doesn't know why, because she wasn't close to that woman, but Zue's lifeless form keeps flashing before her eyes every now and then. 

 

During the night mostly.

 

Rey's only been a Guard for two months when it happens. Zue had been one for the past twelve years.

If she had to guess she'd say Zue was between thirty and thirty five years-old when she died. 

 

Now she's another statistic in the ever-growing rate of suicides among the Guards nation-wide. 

 

Rey hates Juzio -the other one. He's always making jokes about animals dying, or Flying Fishes -the name they give irregulars- being executed. He's not exactly mean, nor dangerous, but he's dumb as _fuck_.

 

So when he's transferred to another, more demanding station, she's glad. At first.

 

Soon, though, Juzio's absence only cruelly reminds her of how little she knows about the procedures. Of how she can't properly aim with her V-k8 -the useless, mandatory gun the government provide the Guards. 

 

What if she meets a Flying Fish? How is she supposed to take care of it?

She knows how in  _theory_ , but she never got the opportunity to apply any of it.

 

Because no one ever drives by here, or walks by here. 

Ever. 

 

The station, like all the others across the nation, is supposed to be a relay for people to charge their transport, to buy some food, to get their chip validated and their status updated.

 

But over the span of twelve weeks, _she hasn't met a single soul_ , aside of the man in charge of delivering the cans she eats and her munitions once a month.

 

She tries to engage the conversation while he unloads his truck, feeling ashamed at how she rushes the questions out of her mouth, as if she tried to get as many interactions as she could before he'd leave -but his answers are short. 

He must have a family to go back home to. 

 

She wonders if the other wards of the nation from her birth camp got as unlucky as her when they got stationed. All of them orphans were only meant to become Guards, and that's a shitty fate on its own, if you ask her.

Little did she know it could get worse than that. 

 

_And she thought she was used to being alone._

 

When she was little already, life showed her she could be surrounded by children her age and be completely, unforgivingly alone and isolated. 

She was only desperate for friendship in the beginning, desperate for any kind of aknowledgement, for any kind of attention, even the bad kind, from her pairs and from the adults in charge of them -but she gave up on that quite soon. 

Children around her exchanged thoughts essentially through shouting, kicking and pushing. She learned how to yell and scream above the noise. She learned a different kind of touch than the one she was craving to give and receive. 

 

Indeed, she thought she knew all there was to know about loneliness. 

 

She has to admit that this is next-level though.

 

Life is just the funniest shit there is. She's in the most deserted place of the whole fucking country. 

 

Obviously her superiors are aware of this, or they wouldn't be taking their sweet time sending her new colleagues.

 

 

Yes, she was afraid of meeting a traveler at first. 

 

Now she's just begging for anyone to show up. For anything to happen.  

 

 

She's supposed to be alert at all times, but because she's got trouble sleeping during the night she often dozes off during the day.

Also, she can't leave the station, unless ordered to. 

 

So she never strays too far. 

 

She checked the abandoned greenhouses behind the station, and the cabin nearby -just the time for her to note that its door was locked.

And that's about it.

 

Several times she aligned a few empty cans to train and shoot. She got bored real quick. 

 

_Bored out of her fucking mind._

 

She sits there on an old beach chair that Juzio always used to claim before he left, dying from the heat in her uniform -a blue coveralls she ties the sleeves of around her waist, leaving her in a white tank top stained on its sides and in the back by her sweat.

 

She sits, moving her chair along with the shadow casted on the ground by the concrete small block of the station until the sun goes down. 

 

Then she retreats in her cabin. Eats cold beans out of a can. 

 

Before lying down on her straw bed until the sun comes up. 

 

 

 

Sometimes she thinks she heard a noise so she gets up and gets out in the middle of the night with her V-k8. 

 

Scared shitless. 

And so,  _so hopeful_.

 

 

But it's never anything of importance. 

The wind. A creak of the wood. Something that fell. 

 

Most of the time, she just dreamt it.

 

 

_She must be going crazy._

 

 

\---it's a simple idea that grows louder each day, making its nest in her head. 

 

 

 

Which is why when she sees a silhouette walking under the sun one day, far, far ahead on the side of the road, she first thinks she's hallucinating. 

 

 

 

Until she's pretty sure she's not.

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [chapter's song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=h4rZE_J1beA)
> 
>  
> 
> The PERFECT MOODBOARD you saw at the beginning of this chapter is brought to you by the GIFTED reylo fic writer [SecretReyloTrash](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BadOldWest/works?fandom_id=6048501), and here's her [tumblr](https://secretreylotrash.tumblr.com/) -don't hesitate and go enjoy her talent for free <3


	2. Pickled Peppers

 

 

She can't tell if it's panic she's feeling, or excitment. A mix probably.

 

Her eyes were closed a moment before and the sudden, brutal luminosity turns everything blue for a few seconds before she spots it. 

 

So far ahead on the side of the road she can't tell if it's going away or coming to her at first.

 

It's noon. The sun's high up in the sky; waves of heat rise from the road, blurring its form a bit.

 

Her eyelids flutter, and she rubs her eyes, still drowsy and confused after the weak slumber she fell into, until she's not confused at all and jumps out of her chair. 

 

She rushes to untie the sleeves of her coverall to zip it up, fumbling with it, and starts walking in its direction.

 

She doesn't realize she switches in no time from a prompt, jumpy walk to a legitimate _run_ , her body responding to the promise of a break in her isolation more openly than her mind. She doesn't realize it, because all kinds of questions fight for her attention in her head.

 

_A Guard wouldn't arrive by foot._

Would he?

 

It's a man. She thinks?

 

Is he going north? Where is he coming from? What's over there?

 

No way he hasn't noticed her now, and though he seems to be moving slowly he doesn't appear to be bothered by her running to him, because at no point does he stop moving forward. 

 

She on the other hand is going full speed, the fool, kicking dirt as she goes -until her brain stutters finally registering a rather crucial information the closer she gets to him, something she couldn't have a good appreciation of, from afar.

 

Tall. 

 _Tall_. 

 

_-tall, tall, talltalltalltall-_

 

Her feet get the message and slow down abruptely.

 

In one swift motion she reaches for her V-k8 and points it at him.

He stops right in his tracks.

 

_"ON YOUR FUCKING KNEES."_

 

The order echoes in the air all around them.

 

She doesn't know what she's doing _at-all -_ and _fuck_ she hopes it doesn't show.

 

There's a second there where she fears he might not obey -but he does, bending a shaky knee to lower himself to the ground. 

He struggles to keep balance, because he doesn't let go of the animal he's holding close to his chest.

 

That's better. Tall fuck.

 

She goes back to walking toward him with rapid steps, gun still pointed at him, catching her breath, only to slow them down again the closer she gets, as she's taking in the rest of him. 

 

His thick black hair are wet from sweat, clinging to his forehead. His cheeks are red. His lips parted, eyes a bit glassy, fixed to the ground before him.

 

He doesn't look too excited about his little walk under the sun -maybe because he forgot to dress for it.

Kneeling in that heat doesn't seem to be his favorite occupation either. 

 

Too bad.

 

She didn't notice the small duffel bag on his shoulder -small, yet it doesn't look light.

 

That's a stretched, blue, -near black- long-sleeved _undershirt_ , what he's wearing as a top, and she can't say what the fabric is, but it doesn't look breezy enough.

 

Looks like there are quite the shoulders underneath, and although she assesses he's fairly weak at the moment -thristy, surely- she's not about to let her guards down right away. Her knowledge in self-defence is badly lacking. 

 

He doesn't need to know that.

 

A pair of thick, oversized jeans -or did he used to be bigger?- so old the fabric lost almost all its color, with low cut brown boots that must have walked thousands of miles on some other feet before his own.

 

And _there_ , in his arms, is a _lamb_.

 

Looks like it too is enjoying the stroll. 

 

It's no bigger than a grown cat, limp in his embrace, its neck soft, its head rolling in the crook of his owner's elbow. 

 

She's only a few feet away from him now, but she still takes two steps forward out of curiosity, wondering if it's still alive. 

 

She doesn't miss how the traveler goes rigid and tightens his hold when she does. She can't tell why he would until it makes sense two seconds later, when she sees the blue, nearly white eyes of the lamb.

 

Let's skip small talk.

 

"Is that a Cactus lamb?"

 

Great. _She sounds like a child_. How intimidating. 

It's not the correct designation, just how they're popularly called.

 

His shoulders drop slightly at her question. 

So it's a yes, then.

 

"Yes," he confirms. 

 

The deep pitch of his voice only makes her warier, and he's staring up at her, clearly not pleased -but he doesn't look like he'll put up a fight.

 

"I thought they went extinct," she goes on.

 

His jaw tenses. While he's probably unaware of it he tightened his hold some more around the lamb at her words.

 

"They didn't," he finally mutters.

 

She heard about those back at her Birth camp. The Cactus sheep can survive for months at a time just by drinking water.   

They're also known to have a single mate their whole lives. If one dies, the other one does too. What's interesting is that there's no biological reason behind it, to explain why that'd be. It's just notorious that this is what happens every time.

 

If you kill a Cactus sheep's mate, it will lie down, stop eating and stop drinking until death ensues.

 

That's it, that's all she knows about it.

 

_Oh_ , and also, it costs a fortune. 

 

His lips are dry as fuck.

He has a stainless still bottle clasped at his hip. 

 

Not stupid. He gave the lamb all the water.

 

"What are you gonna do with it?" she asks, unable not to keep her curiosity under control.

 

But now he really looks at her like he hates her already. The sole suggestion he should do something with the animal apparently bothers him. 

 

She can't exactly know why, but it actually hurts her. Sure, she's pointing a gun at him, but that's beside the point. 

It makes her hate him right back.

 

She snarls:

"Can you fucking talk?"

 

It's a fleeting thing to catch, barely there. On his lips. 

 

The smallest pursing, the slightest trembling, as he looks about to talk, but his lips don't part, and no words gets out. 

He only lets out a small, shaky exhale through his nose.

 

Right away she remembers the black girl she never knew the name of, whose bed was next to hers for years.

She used to stammer her way into silence too, sticking to short sentences, changing words mid-thoughts. Her mouth would tremble just a bit, then she'd stay silent.

Other kids would eat her alive, some forbidding every one to befriend her.

 

It comes back to Rey easily -very easily.

She shoves it back in a corner of her mind, where it belongs.  

 

Can you talk. Not such a rethorical question after all.

 

"No," she starts, watching his face intently, as she asks, _mean_ : "You actually can't-can you?"

 

"I can," he quietly says back.

There's no anger underneath, he just states it as a fact.

 

She lowers her gun.

He looks up at her, frowning because of how bright the sun shines.

 

"You have a stutter, don't you?"

 

He lowers his gaze at that. 

 

Then, with the actual enthusiasm of a nine year old trying out a new toy, a smirk on her lips, she goes:

 

"Say:  _If Peter Piper picked a peck of pickled peppers, where's the peck of_ \---"

 

"No."

 

His eyes are still cast down.

 

She bites the inside of her cheek, and swallows.

 

She feels like shit for some reason. It doesn't sit well with her.

To counter the guilt, her tone sharpens some more: 

 

"Your chip."

 

She refrains from rolling her eyes when she sees him struggling a bit to roll his sleeve up his forearm to expose his right wrist, _while refusing to let go of the lamb_. 

 

She pulls out of her pocket the rusty device she's been given on her first day, turning it on for the first time. 

 

How does this shit work, again?

 

She doesn't recognize anything on the screen when it lights up. 

 

Unsure, she approaches the top part of it to the inside of his wrist, holding his arm in place. To her relief, he's only compliant. 

 

She presses the button on the side to scan it. 

 

No beeping sound. 

 

She takes a quick glimpse at his face, checking if there's any sign he's able to tell that she's helpless. Then she looks back at the screen. It's mercilessly blank.

 

But just as she's about to scan it a second time the device beeps weakly. 

She hurries to look at the screen.

 

A whole bunch of informations popped up across it. 

She doesn't allow herself to claim victory just yet, and asks tentatively: 

 

"Are... What's your name?"

 

He narrows his eyes. It's not contempt -only confusion. 

 

"Benjamin Solo."

 

She actually has to refrain from hissing a loud _YES!_ at the sound of his name.

Not only does her device work, but everything's in order as far as she's concerned. He's validated his chip and updated his status at every station. 

 

His voice brings her back to him. 

"Can I --"

A calculated pause. She raises an eyebrow.

 

"--get up?"

 

She has no reason to be embarrassed. 

But she clears her throat, biting the inside of her cheek again. "Uh, yeah --yeah, you can."

 

How fearless. 

 

He braces himself with a hand to the ground, and slowly unfolds himself before her on shaky legs, making her crane her neck to look up at him. Reminded of his height, she instinctively takes two steps back. 

 

But his breathing is quite uneven, his eyes half-opened. He holds the lamb tight, as if he was clinging to it rather than carrying it. 

 

His eyes go to the forest. There's a calm certainty about him.

 

That's when she realizes: that's it.

She's done her job. He's free to go as he pleases now.

 

Ignoring the reasons why she does it, obviously not quite ready to be left alone, she blurts out before she can help it: 

 

"You --you need water!"

 

His eyes flick back to her.

 

"I know," he murmurs.

 

Right. She rephrases: "I mean there's water at the station."

 

Now he looks at her like he's genuinely curious about her. Like he's trying to figure her out. 

 

He nods once: 

"I know," he repeats softly. 

 

She looks everywhere but him, embarrassed again, then _shrugs_ , for some reason, before turning to go back at the station. 

 

She peeks behind her at some point, to check if he's following her. 

 

She's walking fast, he's far behind -but he's following. 

 

That prompts her to accelerate the pace.

 

She gets to the station way before him. 

Passing the glass doors, she rushes inside between the shelves and the shit-ton of cans that are gathering dust on them, to get to the back of the grocery part of the station, where the deliveries are stocked.

 

From there, she can access the small kitchen.

Well, _kitchen_ is a generous word for it. There's a stove and a sink, with three glasses, a pan and two plates. 

 

She pours herself a glass, gulps it down in five seconds, sighing afterward. She pours another one, before going back to the counter. 

 

She sits on the stool behind said counter -then immediately gets up. Restless.

 

She's about to go to the doors to see where he is, when he appears behind the glass, cheeks even redder, hair still wet. 

 

He closes his eyes from relief once he's inside, the concrete keeping the rooms cool somewhat. He then blinks several times, adjusting to the obscurity.

 

"Here's some water," she says gesturing to the glass.

 

His eyes go to the glass, then back on her. 

"I need," he sighs heavily, pondering, "--ten liters."

 

He approaches her, and takes the glass without a word, humming as he drinks half of it. 

 

She's caught off guard. "Ah, you --you want a drum?"

 

_How in the fuck is he gonna carry ten liters under that sun?_

 

He nods, putting the glass down. 

 

She frowns as she watches him dip three fingers in the rest of the water. 

 

She doesn't want to stare, so she manages to fool herself for five whole seconds, before curiosity takes over and she's looking at him again. 

He dips his fingers in the glass, then lets the water drop from his fingers onto the forehead of the lamb -on its mouth, on its nose -petting its head, his eyes focused on the animal.

 

She leans slightly forward to have a better view, getting a bit closer without meaning to.

 

The lamb is shivering, shaking its head weakly under his caresses. It lets out small grunts, eyes closed. 

 

Solo's hand engulfs the whole head with each strokes, gently coaxing its fur. 

 

She can't say why but it's near impossible to tear her eyes away from it. 

 

It's not the lamb. She doesn't find it cute. She doesn't like animals in general. She feels uncomfortable around them, no matter what the animal is. 

 

Now though, she can't look away from how peaceful the lamb looks somehow, as Solo keeps caressing it. 

 

Except she _can_ , because at some point she looks up at its owner. 

 

Only to find he's staring at her, with just the shadow of a smirk playing on his lips. 

 

Her heart jumps, and she steps back hastily, muttering low: 

"I'll, I'll go get that drum."

 

She comes back with it by pushing it on the ground all the way from the stock room. 

 

He presents his wrist to transfer the credits for the water. She doesn't even know if she does it correctly, or if she just offers him ten liters of water. 

 

Then he groans as he lifts up the drum from the ground.

The duffle bag is still on his shoulder, the lamb on his right arm against him, when he looks back at her above his shoulder:

 

"The door. Please."

 

Two seconds pass where she just stands there. 

 

She can only watch it happening. 

 

She entertains the idea of telling him he could rest here for the night, if he wanted to, and immediately thinks better of it. 

 

There's nothing she can do, but still she asks, wincing as she hears how pitiful she sounds:

"There's --You can get food, too."

 

He looks at her, confident. "No need."

 

Defensively, she walks up to the door, not looking at him, and opens it, almost shrugging again before she mutters:

 

"Well. _See you_."

 

\--ignoring the pounding in her ears, as she's about to dive back into a life of solitude. 

 

The break was brief. 

And it brought no relief -it merely better highlighted how life here is unbearable.

 

He says nothing as he passes her. 

 

She closes the door, working her jaw.

 

Zue's body flashes before her eyes. _Again_.

She shuts them hard. 

 

Slowly, she looks back at the glass door.

 

She just wants to know in what direction he's walking, she tells herself when she gets out.

 

_Where the fuck is he?_

 

She looks both ways on the road, frowning, blinking. He's nowhere, did he leave for the forest? It takes roughly an hour to get there, she'd be able to see him; he left _two minutes ago_.

 

_Did she fucking hallucinate the whole thing after all?_

 

She turns, utterly confused, unaware that she's about to be confused even more. 

 

She almost misses it, because the cabin behind the station is half hidden by one of the greenhouses, from where she's standing. 

 

Still, she can see its door has been opened.

 

So.

 

She has a neighbor now.

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sK1wgNh9bZI


	3. Nobody fucking cares

 

 

The first few days she acts like she's unperturbed, like him being here from now on isn't a considerable change in her life -and he acts like he doesn't know she's constantly watching him. 

 

She figures he must know though, because she's not that discreet. She keeps going around the station just to have a glance at him.

There's nothing here beside them, and she's got nothing to do, so there's really no way for her to be subtle. Not to mention everything's so silent he can hear her easily, even though his cabin isn't that close to the station.

 

She goes back and forth between the station and her own private cabin -the right one next to the two others that were Zue's and Juzio's- to see if he's up already or preparing to go to the forest, putting on the boots he leaves outside his cabin at night, or watching the lamb as he lets it jump around on its weak legs in the first hours of the day, when the sun's barely peeking out and the sky's still dark.  

 

Nevertheless, she manages to actually believe she doesn't care when he leaves during the night and she doesn't see him for a whole day. 

 

She's embarrassed at first when he catches her looking his way, and she tries to act busy -carrying random shit around, crates of cans from one point to another, as if those ever needed to be moved -but really soon she stops losing her energy over something that clearly doesn't fool him.

 

So she just sits behind the station instead of in front of it in the early morning, to see when he'll get up, and when he gets out, she doesn't try to hide that she was waiting for exactly that -although she's not particularly proud either, so she simply folds her chair, then goes back to the front of the station. 

 

It's pretty clear to her that he doesn't want to have anything to do with her, and so she might watch him from afar but she still stays away from him -in spite of how desperate she is for the smallest interaction. 

 

She tries to find comfort in the fact that he's probably not a man of many conversations anyway. No regrets to have. 

 

Yet she can't really help her curiosity. She wants to know where he comes from, and many other things too; she wants to know what the inside of his cabin looks like. She supposes he goes to the forest to wash himself among other things, but there might be a shower in there: there's a shower in hers. His is fairly small but it's still bigger than hers.

 

But she just keeps quiet. Watches him take care of that lamb. 

 

She's a bit hurt that a lamb is receiving more attention than she ever has in her life. And that realization sure doesn't make her swoon all over the animal. 

 

Against all odds, he's the one who interrupts the silence. 

It's the middle of the afternoon and she's dozing off again on her chair, her mouth slightly agape, her head tilted backward a bit, the heat keeping her from falling asleep completely. It's perfectly silent all around, as usual, still for some reason she opens her eyes, barely -and jumps when she sees him standing ten feet away from her.

 

He's looking at her intentely, arms on his sides. She straightens, blinking up at him.  

 

"Where are the."

-he says.

 

He looks so unfased, that she actually thinks that's the end of his sentence, and she looks at him like he's mad. But the rest comes soon after: 

 

"--other Guards?"

 

She recedes back against her chair.  

 

"One got transferred. The other one hang herself." 

 

She didn't mean to be so blunt. Until the words are out she doesn't consider the fact that she doesn't how to speak to people like a normal person. Next to Juzio, who was joking about dead things constantly, and Zue, who didn't speak at all, she was the okay one. 

 

But by the look on Solo's face she's forced to reevaluate that. 

 

She squirms on her chair. 

 

Fuck him.

 

But then he leaves her there, and he has no idea he unlocked something really needy, and intense and weird in her, as she soon starts approaching him unprompted.

 

She tries to refrain from asking him questions. She gives it her best. But usually she fails.

 

 _Does he go to the forest._ _Yes._

_Is there a river there. Yes._

_Does he meet people there. No._

 

At least she makes some effort into asking yes or no questions, most of the time. Hopefully he appreciates that. 

 

Meanwhile he acts like he was expecting that all along, like it's only natural that she comes to him. 

 

He on the other hand, never asks her  _shit_.

 

She's very ambivalent about that.

She knows there's nothing interesting to say, and he must sense that somehow, but still it would have been a nice twist in her existence that someone would give a fuck for a change.  

 

In the end she must remind herself she's a Guard after all. All Guards have the same sad stories to share.

Nobody fucking cares. 

 

She asks him a few questions at a time, then always leaves abruptely before he gets a chance to dismiss her. 

 

One evening, he's sitting outside his back against the wooden wall of his cabin, turning the crank of a dynamo lamp absentmindedly. The lamb runs awkwardly in uneven circles not far from him. 

 

Without any sort of introduction, or so much as a hello, she asks:

 

"That's your cabin?"

 

"Yes." 

 

"You've lived here before?"

 

"Yes." 

 

She's got so many more in store for him, but she gets interrupted, because the lamb gets all jumpy and it stumbles near her. 

 

She gives it a kick that sends it baaing in distress to him.

 

He widens his eyes at her a bit. She stiffens. 

 

A pitiful  _sorry_ stays stuck in her throat.

 

He gets up, and she stiffens some more -but she's a bit confused when he doesn't swing a hand at her. Instead he picks the lamb up and kisses its neck hard like a grandma would kiss her grandson, before putting it back down on the ground to his fucked up circles. 

 

That's even worse.

 

She feels like a little kid and she wants to kick the lamb all over again. 

It also makes her resent him.

 

So she leaves suddenly and without a word, like she so often does.

 

The next day she swears there's no way she'll go talk to him again. 

But he's full of surprises, because as he's about to go to the forest with his duffle bag on his shoulder that very same day, and she's stubbornly staring at the road, he stops as he passes her, and tells her with all the ease in the world: 

 

"I'll be back before sunset."

 

Like he's her _son_ , or her husband or something. 

 

Without another word he turns to leave.

The lamb trots behind him. 

 

She wants to shoot back that _she doesn't care_ , but then she's afraid he might actually not do it again if she tells him that.

So she doesn't. 

 

And sure enough it's the beginning of a new habit. 

 

"I'll be back before noon."

 

"I'll be back by tomorrow."

 

"I'll be back tonight."

 

She looks at him walk in direction of the forest her mouth downturned slightly, thinking it's only about her envying him as he's free to go there -which is partly true. 

 

When he comes back one evening, she stands up a bit too quickly from her chair, wincing for a second as it just makes it obvious she was waiting for him. 

 

She speaks barely high enough: 

 

"Do you want to play a game?"

 

He stops there, and turns to her. 

 

She clears her throat. "It's just to pass the time."

 

Only when she says it does she realize she's the only one who needs to pass the time. He seems pretty okay with his situation. 

 

Yet he asks: "What game?"

 

She approaches him, trying her best not to sound too eager. 

 

She never noticed he smelled like smoke. Did he build a fire?

 

She clenches her fist with her pinky up, showing it to him: "The _mouse_..." ; then she points her index: "...eats the _worm_...", then joining her thumb with the tips of her other fingers: "...the worm eats the _bird_..." before finally, she clenches her fist again with her pinky up: "...and the bird eats the mouse."

She'd play that game all the time with Juzio. 

 

She just then looks up at him, catching the beginning of a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth as he watches her closely.

 

Her voice gets a bit unsteady. 

"You--pick an animal each time."

 

He speaks then: 

"We keep score?"

 

She shakes her head: "No need, no. The winner of every round gets to punch the other one in the shoulder-"

 

He lets out a small snort of disbelief, but she just believes he's amused, oblivious in the moment to the fact that he's convinced she's joking. 

 

"... and whoever can't take it anymore first, is the loser."

 

He's not smiling at all now.

 

He really looks at her like he's trying to make sense of her, and again, that's only something she understands later, since in the moment she misinterprets it widly, bragging a bit:

 

"Don't get fooled by my small frame, I won't back down easily. Most of the men I played this game with have given up before me. If you're brave enough, we won't stop playing until our arms are blue."

 

She actually says that like she's making a promise.  

 

Looking up at him good then, she barely has the time to register that he's not amused, before he whispers with a pained expression -like he can't keep the truth from leaving his lips:

 

"...that's stupid." 

 

Her face slowly falls. At the way he swallows after that, she can immediately tell he regrets his words. 

 

Unfortunately for him, he doesn't have a monopoly on speaking without thinking.

 

She mutters it, but in the silence of the evening he's only able to hear her crystal clear:

 

"What... you think you come off as a brilliant man yourself?" She looks at her feet, adding even lower "...cause I'm telling you: you don't. You can't even say two words in a row."

 

A few moments of silence pass before she dares looking up at him again, and she does.

Only to  _immediately_  look away. 

 

That expression is officially something she doesn't want to see on his face ever again. She feels miserable. 

 

Yet she doesn't say anything as he slowly picks up his duffle bag, and walks away from her. 

 

She has another reason not to sleep at night now. 

 

The next day, she sees him leave for the forest. 

 

He doesn't slow his steps when he passes her, doesnt look at her.

 

He doesn't tell her when he'll be back.

 

She has all the time in the world to feel sorry for herself until he returns, and when he does, she defensively ignores him back, only watching him go out of the corner of her eye when he's his back to her.

 

She sits on her chair way past sunset that night instead of heading directly to her cabin. The moonlight allows her to see eveything more or less clearly.

She stays there.

Waiting for the hurt to dim, or some shit. 

 

She's about to get up when she hears little steps in the dirt getting closer, and so she turns her head. 

 

The lamb stopped a few feet away from her. It's looking directly at her.

That thing is getting bolder and bolder. 

 

She squirms on her chair, and the lamb flinches.

Yet it doesn't go away. 

 

She waits for it to do something, anything, but it just stands there. 

 

Unexplicably, she picks up her cantina near her feet, and shakes it. There's some water left in it.

 

Then she pours it in the ashtray that remained clean and empty since Juzio's transfer, before pushing it toward the lamb. 

 

She's most definitely surprised to see it go straight to it and drink.

 

It probably doesn't mean anything from an animal that young, but she herself wouldn't give that kind of trust to anyone. Especially someone who'd kick her. 

 

She can't take her eyes off of it, relaxing ever so slightly to the sound of it lapping.

 

Until she hears much heavier steps approaching slowly in the night. 

 

Her whole body tenses. She instantly looks the other way, her hands gripping the arms of her chair. 

 

The steps keeps getting closer and closer, until they come to a stop.

 

He's probably just a few feet from her. The lamb doesn't stop lapping, unperturbed. 

 

She thinks he's just gonna pick up the lamb and go, but he doesn't. 

 

He's waiting patiently for the lamb to be done with her water. 

 

When she doesn't hear the lamb lapping anymore, sure enough, she hears two heavy steps come closer still, until they're finally slowly getting away.

 

She looks back at the ashtray. The lamb is gone. 

 

She blinks a few times to keep her eyes from burning too much, and it passes.

 

Her eyelids get heavy around noon the next day. For no good reason she fights it a bit, tries to keep her eyes opened. 

Until she opens them wide when she hears the same steps approach the station once again.

She hurries to look away toward the road.

 

She expects him to just go to the forest, like he did the day before, but she hears him stop again. 

She slowly turns her head toward him, her heart pounding, wondering if he's come to beat her up after all. 

 

He's looking down, frowning, his bag on his shoulder. 

He swallows before he can finally articulate:

 

"I'll--I'll be back before sunset."

 

Without another word, he turns and walks in direction of the forest, the lamb on his heels. 

 

She looks at him go.

 

 

A weight has just been lifted off her chest.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=b_VFWR7aB60
> 
>  
> 
>   [Some CUTE FANART for this chapter by Ellie -- BLESS YOU, I LOVE IT](http://www.alsterellie.tumblr.com/post/178217663633/instead-he-picks-the-lamb-up-and-kisses-its-neck)


	4. How domestic

 

Days pass, and his strolls to the forest are shorter and shorter. 

She can't really guess why. 

 

When he comes back from there now, the lamb goes straight to her. 

 

She ignores it until Solo's out of sight, and he himself pretends like he hasn't noticed the change of heart in his pet lamb. 

 

He doesn't have to look around for long every time he doesn't see it around-if he can't find it, it's that it's with her, lying by her feet.

 

One evening, as the sky is growing dark, he goes to her and picks up the sleepy animal, asking her:

 

"Did you give it water?"

 

_Like they're sharing custody._

 

Her first impulse is to grit her teeth and tell him it's not her responsability -but then, for a reason she can't explain, she just nods instead.

 

And she fucking hates that she's started to refer to the lamb as  _Grasshopper_  in her head.

 

She's still unable to sleep at night. Zue's stiff body keep swinging at the end of a rope in the dark.

Her own cabin is too similar to the one she found Zue in, and so as she keeps her eyes opened, looking at the ceiling, all she sees is the spot where Zue tied the rope. 

 

Rey wonders how she would do it, if she wanted to kill herself one day. 

 

She's got her V-k8, but it'd be too messy for her taste. She might go to the forest and climb high on a tree to jump from there. It'd be nice to finally go there before she dies. 

 

Zue talked to her about another cabin there, that was built for a team of Guards way back when irregulars were all hiding in the forests. At the time Guards would share a large cabin, not have individual ones, like today. 

 

She wonders if sharing one would have prevented Zue from hanging herself. 

 

Probably not.

 

The afternoon she almost systematically falls asleep -or rather, she breathes more slowly with her eyes closed while losing track of time and the ability to situate herself in space for a few minutes. 

That's the closest to sleep she's ever gonna get. 

 

Her head gets heavy as usual one afternoon, and she hears the legs of the lamb kicking the dirt almost all the way from Solo's cabin as it trots to her. 

 

She opens one eye, and sees it standing next to her feet, staring at her. 

 

Unprompted, it baas at her for no reason, so loud she actually jumps a bit. Like it's mad at her. 

 

_Da fuck?_

 

It stands on its back legs, neck forward, taking support on her knees, pedalling against her, with its tongue stuck out -because apparently it wants to be on her lap. That's a thing now. 

 

She picks it up without a word, and lays it down on her lap where it wriggles a bit, grunting against her. She crosses her legs to make sure the lamb gets in a position where it can't fall, and it's uncomfortable.

She holds it against the animal. But her hands have a unique way to translate her irritation, as they start petting it all on their own. 

 

Grasshopper settles and closes its eyes quite quickly, despite the heat.

 

She closes her eyes herself, and blacks out. 

 

When she opens them again, it's because she's hearing footsteps getting closer; in fact, it's too late, Solo's already seen her with the lamb on her lap when she wakes up, but she still jolts and pushes the lamb off her lap as if on instinct, sending the animal crying when it lands. 

 

It's not hurt, it hasn't fell from too high, and it jumps right up, baaing, vexed and annoyed. 

 

But she's still mortified, and she quickly looks up at Solo, stiff, anticipating his reaction.

 

He's looking at her sideways, with one raised eyebrow, as he's obviously trying to refrain from smiling.

 

She switches from embarrassment to scowling  _in an instant_.

 

And he really doesn't care; he picks the lamb up to snuggle it against his chest, and approaches her.

 

"Say sorry."

 

She's first agape, trying to figure out if he's joking or not, finding it doesn't matter:

 

"No."

 

Her voice is rather small in comparison to his -she doesn't know why she's intimidated, but she's not gonna apologize to an animal.

 

His tone is genuine, enough to disarm her.

"Why not?"

 

"It can't understand me," she argues, huffing discreetly in annoyance that she has to state the obvious.

 

"I can."

 

Cornered, she squirms on her chair, and looks everywhere but him. Then gets up and leaves before she says something regretful. 

 

Or worse: before she ends up apologizing to the damn lamb.

 

That night her exhaustion reaches another level, but there's still nothing she can do about it. For the first time, the idea crosses her mind that Solo might not be sleeping either.

 

He doesn't strike her as the type to have steady sleep cycles. 

 

And it's not even midnight yet. 

 

She gets up from her bed, stops before getting out to grab an old coin she's kept with her since she was thirteen, that she uses for several, pointless games. She surely won't bring it up, but just in case. 

 

It's a full moon, and with the land being so white she's able to see almost as well as during the day. 

 

She pads in direction of Solo's cabin, barefoot, in her tank top and cotton pants that she uses as pyjamas.

 

She can see from afar that there's light coming from under his front door.

 

She shivers a bit on her way: if during daytime the heat is unbearable, it's quite cold during the night, enough to need some blankets to sleep.

 

The closer she gets the slower her steps are. She has second thoughts. 

 

She feels shame to come asking so openly for his company. More than anything she's terrified he's gonna tell her to fuck off.

 

She won't handle it well, and she wonders if this is worth the risk.

 

So when she arrives at the door, she freezes just as she's about to knock.

 

She stills her fist mid-air, then brings it back down slowly. There's no noise coming from inside. He must be sleeping. 

Or at least she wants to believe it's a good reason to chicken out.

 

She turns, only to stops right there in her tracks, eyes wide. 

 

He's standing just a few feet away from her under the moonlight, staring at her, his face unreadable, with a bunch of dry clothes in his arms that he hanged on the clothesline on the right side of his cabin. 

 

He's wearing white underpants that cover him to his knees, and a white, long sleeved undershirt.  

His boots are untied.

 

How domestic.

 

Except it really doesn't feel that way -she just feels like she's intruding.

 

She tries to come up with something quick to justify why she's here, but he's quicker and moves forward to her.  

 

"--the door, please."

 

She swallows and opens it obediently, and he enters. 

 

She stays outside for a few seconds. 

 

Then follows him inside when she sees he doesn't slam the door on her. 

 

Aligned against the wall up to her shoulders are stacked maybe a hundred cans.

That's the one thing she's forced to notice right away. It reminds her of the station's stock room. 

 

Her eyes flick to a sink in the corner, out-of-service maybe, then to a single bed and a bunch of books piled up by its side. The dynamo lamp is on the floor nearby. There's a small square table with two chairs in the corner on her right. 

 

Grasshopper is sleeping under.

 

He's folding his laundry, not with much precision but he's still taking his time, and she's waiting for him to ask her what she wants. 

 

But he doesn't, as if it's normal that she's here, as if she already came tons of times to him in the middle of the night.

 

Eventually, she asks with the smallest voice:

 

"Are... are you about to go to bed?"

 

"Yes," he says, calm as ever, focusing on his folding. 

 

She tries not to make her disappointment obvious.

 

His voice deepens: "Why are you up?"

 

She doesn't want to talk about Zue. Not now, not ever. 

Not to him.  

 

She ends up mumbling; 

"I can't sleep."

 

He has nothing to say to that apparently, as he continues his folding unworried, still not looking at her. 

 

When he's done, he kicks off his boots and she panics a little as she understands he's really going to bed now. 

She makes one last attempt. 

 

She has no interest in books whatsoever, still she tries her best, meaning to ask what he's reading, or what's his favorite book, hoping it can start a conversation that will pass the time even just a little bit: 

 

"What... what is it that you--what is---"

 

...only to lose her voice when he approaches her and grabs her by the arm, just above her elbow.

 

The grip isn't tight, it doesn't hurt, but it's firm nonetheless. She's sure he's about to open the door wordlessly and throw her out, and she falls silent right away, chin a bit inward in shame.

 

But he pulls her with him toward the bed.

 

Now she's just confused.

 

Her eyes widen when he pulls the blankets and makes her climb in without a word, his own eyes focusing on what he's doing, not meeting hers. 

 

"Scoot over," he orders. 

 

Although in a haze somewhat she hurries to do so, her shoulder bumping in the wall, confusion rendering her speechless as he climbs in with her. He lies down next to her while she's still on her knees, staring at him, blinking at him. 

 

Again, he's just preoccupied about what he's doing, he doesn't pay attention to the look on her face. 

 

He grunts reaching for the dynamo lamp and turns it off without an explanation.

 

The room go dark.

 

She's still sitting by his side, when she feels his hand grope blindly at her knee -but that's not what he was looking for, because he reaches for her arm then, and pulls on it, not too strongly but firmly enough once more to get her to lie down next to him.

 

She still doesn't say anything, dazed, as he pulls the blanket back on her once she's lying down. 

 

Rigid, her back to him, trying to give him as much space as possible in that small bed, facing the wall and getting really close to it, she feels his hand sliding around her waist before he pulls her to him once again, a bit roughly, as he himself readjusts his position, until her back is soundly flush against his chest, his arm solid and tight around her and his thighs right against the back of hers.

 

His breath is warm and quiet in her hair. The immediate warmth surrounding her is overwhelming. 

 

She stopped breathing at some point.

 

Meanwhile, just like that, his own breathing settles. Clearly he's not troubled at all by what's happening; it's as if nothing had changed for him. 

 

He holds her in place good, but she still ruffles the blanket nervously with her feet.

 

"Stop moving."

 

Hearing his voice so close to her ear is the strangest thing. Even more so given how the words resonate through her.

 

She stills. 

 

The silence is almost complete in the cabin, beside his breathing and the faint snoring of the lamb. 

 

Her heart rattles around in her chest. He tightens his hold around her, and she traps some more air in her lungs. 

 

It feels like her heart's trying to escape her rib cage and they're both working on keeping it there, secure. 

 

They make a good team, because after some time it calms down.

 

She even falls asleep. 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *A WILD TROPE APPEARS*
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JvD3EALtKXE
> 
> All the nightmares  
> They will disappear  
> As you come near
> 
> [...]  
> We have different heartbeats  
> But all the same heartbreak  
> And I can feel it in the way you hold me  
> The way you hold me  
> In know you're lonely too
> 
> [...]  
> All the darkness  
> It will fade away  
> Until the light of day


	5. Happy times

When she wakes up that morning, she needs a few seconds to remember she's not in her cabin. Then to see that Solo's left -with the lamb.

 

A ray of light coming from a split in the wall near the door streches across the room and on her face.

 

 _What_. 

 

She hurries out of bed to get outside. 

 

The sun is high, oh-so-high in the sky.

 

It's fucking noon. 

 

 _Past noon,_ even _._

 

It's stupid, unjustified, but she runs to her cabin to quickly put on her blue coverall, hurting her feet on the dirt in the process. 

 

Once she's dressed, she's still in a haze. 

 

Waking up after several hours of sleep is a strange feeling -it hasn't happened in a long time. But colors and sensations of last night slowly bloom back in her mind as she remembers  _how_  she went to sleep, and it only adds to her confusion. 

\--how the relatively confined space of the cabin seemed to make him that much taller when he crowded her to grab her arm--

\--how his weight in the mattress pressed her a bit more to him-- 

 

How he made it happen as if it was meant to happen.

 

He felt like a boat that can't sink.

 

She feels she's not gonna be able to face him. She can't see him in the daylight, now that they both know he's had her right against him, now that he knows how her hair smell like. 

 

Back at her Birth camp, showers were limited to two minutes by person. Until they turned eighteen, they had no personal space, and they all slept in a room that counted something like fifty bunk beds, give or take.

Far from ever getting used to the lack of privacy, she would just hurry to dress up her head down whenever she had to change clothes, like all the others did too. 

 

She was used to have a lot of bodies around her, near her. She had touched other bodies countless times. Furtive touches. Accidental touches. Bumping into each other. Slapping each other. 

 

His touch, in the middle of it, is foreign. She can't make sense of it. Can't identify it.  

 

Dimly somewhere she's scared that he has something now that she might want more of. That she depends on it, whatever it is, and that he can refuse it to her. 

 

She hates it. Hates it, hates it,  _hates it_.

 

A few hours later, she sees him coming back from the forest from afar, and she swears to herself she's not gonna look at him. Let him understand nothing has changed. 

 

She hears his steps slowing down when he's about to pass her, and she  _does_  manage not to look at him, but with great difficulty -because she didn't think this through, since she's discovering that the direct consequence of that decision is... that  _she can't_   _look at him_. 

 

And what's new about that, is that it's painful now.

It sets off the most bizarre ache in her not to have at least the smallest glimpse of his calves, his back, his hands, his mouth, when she spent the whole afternoon imagining them.

 

_She hates it._

 

She's very suddenly distracted from that ache when she hears the faint sound of an engine in the distance. 

 

A car. Getting closer. 

 

It never happens. So much so, that she forgot it could happen. 

 

She freezes.

_Her V-k8!_

 

She runs to her cabin to get it, only to understand afterward she likely won't use it.

 

This a nice,  _very nice car,_  that parks in front of the station. 

 

It doesn't make sense that anyone would take that road, and it makes even less sense that some rich people would. 

 

The dark-skinned woman who gets out of the driver's seat is a bit underdressed in the light of what she drives, but her deceptively informal clothes are clean, well-cut, made out of a fabric that looks incredibly soft. She walks toward Rey compliantly enough yet unable to hide her mild impatience about the mandatory check. 

 

A teenage girl, likely her daughter, gets out of the passenger seat, eyes on her phone. 

 

The mother walks up to Rey, and presents her wrist: 

 

"Hi. The car needs charging."

 

She smells good. Really, really good. 

 

Rey doesn't dare to get too close to her. If she can smell her, surely that woman can smell her too. 

 

Her nails are perfectly clean. They aren't painted, just cut short, and clean, healthy, like the hands they're on.  

 

Rey wants to hide hers but she hardly can, bringing the scanning device to the woman's wrist.

 

The car. The mother. The girl, the phone.

 

"We... We have a, a Cactus lamb," she hears herself say out of nowhere. "If you're interested."

 

The woman's eyes light up. Now she looks back at Rey -actually looks at her.

 

If there's any chance to sell it, this is it.

Solo's not gonna stumble upon rich people again any time soon.

 

"We're  _not_ ," intervenes the girl. 

 

Her Mom clicks her tongue in annoyance: "Jenny, would you not?"

 

"What? We already have plenty of pets!"

 

" _So what?_ "

 

Rey pretends not to listen, waiting for the woman's decision.

 

The whole scene is a cruel inverted mirror of her own existence.

 

She's had a pet herself, once. 

 

They weren't allowed to have one, back at her Birth camp. She was well aware of that rule when she started feeding the rat that hid in the wall near her bed.

 

She was seven. She gave it a name -a name she wouldn't be able to remember today if she wanted to. 

 

She knew what would happen if she fed it and pet it and named it.

Yet she did it anyway.

 

Adults in charge of the camp -Guardians- weren't allowed to touch the children, not even to give as much as a small slap on a kid's wrist.

 

So they would get  _real_  creative to make sure the rules were respected. 

 

When one of them found out about Rey's rat, she knew it was about to be "taken care of", and it made her lips quiver as she held it against her chest. 

 

What she couldn't have predicted is how the guardian that day felt like making an exemple out of her, for the rest of the kids in her dormitory. 

 

She remembers all the faces around her -some of the children known to be cruel themselves who fell nothing but silent and stood immobile that one time -as they were asked to watch her drown the rat in a basin. 

 

Happy times.

 

"What are we gonna do with a Cactus sheep, Mom? Come on." 

 

" _I just want to see it,_ " huffs the mother, hissing a bit lower: "--why are you like this?"

 

She then turns to Rey:

 

"Go ahead, girl, bring it here."

 

 

Solo's sitting his back against the wall, reading, sheltered from the beating sun when she arrives running to him.

The lamb is sleeping nearby. 

 

His head jerks up as soon as he hears her, and he puts his book down, getting up.

 

He frowns at first, no doubt surprised that she so openly comes to him, and soon his traits soften.

 

She doesn't let that distract her. 

 

She pants: "Solo, there's a woman at the station, she's filthy rich, I can tell."

 

He frowns again as he snorts, amused: 

 

"Good for her."

 

"Good for you, you mean. I told her about the lamb, she wants to look at it."

 

He stills, his whole face blank.

 

He looks at her good, eyes searching for something on her face -she doesn't know what, and she just stands there stupidly, still catching her breath.

 

Did he not understand her?

 

"She wants to have a look at it--" she starts again, but he cuts her off.

 

" _It's not for sale."_  

 

The sound of his voice is hoarse, and he bared his teeth at her. 

 

He looks genuinely offended she entertained the possibilty that it could be for sale, and she scratches her head at that. 

 

She sees panic flash on his face for a second as he turns to look where the lamb is, as if he was afraid she took it while he wasn't looking. Once he sees it, anger takes over on his face, and his jaw comes forward several times, his mouth taking the forms of a bunch of words that don't get out.

 

His fists are clenched tight, his knuckles white. 

 

She confusingly understands she did something wrong, but she has a hard time guessing what.

 

"Why not?" she asks with a small voice. 

 

He fully snarls then. 

 

"I'm not gonna sell the-" his lips gets in a straight line, struggling to form the next syllable, before he forces the word out:

 

"---f-f-FUCKING LAMB."

 

She takes in his sudden shouting, blinking, trying to process what's happening, and attempting to figure out  _why_  it's happening.

She doesn't know where to look, doesn't know what she's supposed to say, as she sees his throat contract and his jaw tense impossibly -he works his mouth over and over -until he finally manage to shout at her again:

 

_"What is wrong with you??"_

 

She doesn't need to hear anything else. 

She walks away the fatest she can, away from him, away, away away from him -to the station, head down, trying to get control over her breathing.

 

When she arrives there, the words are out quickly: 

 

"It escaped," she lies, without trying to be convincing, not caring at all about her manners or that they waited for nothing.

Her mind is miles away.

 

And just like that, they're gone.

As if their sole purpose coming here had been to put her world upside down.

 

The night's falling and she's still on her beach chair, facing the road.

She wills her heart to stop hammering in her chest but it's as if she was stuck to that moment where he showed her his true, raw disappointment in her. 

 

It kills her that she cares what he feels about her.

 

It would help if she had something to do. It would help if she could stop thinking about him. 

 

 _She hates it_. That's what's on a loop in her mind now, only because she can't say she hates  _him_ , even in her head. 

 

At some point she hears him coming, and she's sure he hates her with all his heart, so she just stills and looks in the opposite direction, as she's convinced he's just gonna pass her, to go god knows where do god knows what.

 

But he stops.

 

Is the fucking lamb sleeping under her chair, and she hasn't noticed? Is that why his owner comes to her when he obviously doesn't want to?

 

"Rey?---"

 

... is all he can say before she jumps out of her chair and darts away from him to her cabin.

Slamming the door behind her. 

 

She doesn't even intend it to be a punishment to him, it's actually purely instinctive. 

 

It doesn't make her feel better not one bit. She just couldn't face him just yet.

 

She changes to go to bed although she well knows she won't sleep a wink.

Then she just sits on her bed like she would on her chair.

Waiting for the night to pass as Zue's body swings above her head.

 

But her attention is brought back to outside. 

 

She hears very tentative steps getting closer to her door, until a shadow blocks a bit of the moonlight filtering underneath. 

 

He doesn't knock. She hears him move a few minutes later, the shadow darkening and shifting on the right -and it's not clear right away to her but eventually she understands that he sat down. 

 

Her throat tightens. 

She feels like she spends the whole next hour holding her breath. 

 

Eventually, he gets up.

And leaves.

 

She believes she's nothing but determined when she's at his door around midnight. But her heart is impossibly loud. She can't hear herself think.

She's mad at him, sick over what happened, and he must face the consequences of what he's done to her. 

 

Easier said than done.

 

His light is still on. 

There's no sound coming from inside.

 

When she does open the door she sees him sitting on his bed, his back straight, looking right at her, chin a bit forward, like he's waiting to see what she wants. 

 

He must have heard her coming. 

 

She takes one step in and stops. 

 

A crease on her forehead, her mouth downturned.

 

" _Say sorry."_

 

Her voice is a bit uneven. She meant it to be a mockery of how he requested she'd apologized to the lamb, and she hopes it will ignite his anger all over again, or make him hiss, growl, or narrow his eyes at her.

 

But instead not a second pass before he spills it plainly, without hesitation:

 

"Sorry."

 

She stills, blinking.

 

He's not moving either.

It's like he's holding his breath, waiting for her next move, as if he didn't care what the instructions were, as long as him following them might fix things.

He's watching her attentively, on the look-out for the effect his message in a bottle is having on her. 

 

Slowly, her stunned expression turns into a scowl; a bit because she doesn't get to yell at him, but mostly, she's really expecting him to demand she does the same, and she's getting ready to shout at him that she's  _not sorry_ , and that she wouldn't even know what to be sorry about in the first place.

 

That's not what happens. Her traits very gradually come back into place, as she's forced to see he's disarmingly staying quiet, patient, hanging on whatever words are to fall from her lips next.

 

And that's the thing, though.

Now she doesn't know what to say, or what to do.

 

She just stands there.

 

So, after some time, he slowly scoots toward the wall, pulling on the blanket tentatively, his eyes still on her, bracing himself for a potential rejection. 

 

Her right hand shakes a bit, as she would like so  _badly_  to turn and leave.

Yet she physically  _can't._

 

Her feet slowly pad to him on their own, while he straightens and swallows, still alert, not daring to relax until she eventually lies down at the edge of the bed, her back to him. 

 

After a few seconds he carefully bends over her to wordlessly turn off the lamp on the floor beside the bed. 

Then pulls the blanket on her. 

 

She can't bring herself to make her longing for his touch clear so she leaves as much room as possible between them, and because he doesn't move for  _way too long_  she starts feeling that ache under her ribs again, feeling her lips tremble a bit as it becomes hard to breathe. 

 

But eventually, a very hesitant hand reach around her waist.

 

Because he sees she's letting it happen, finally, he gently pulls her to him to press their bodies together, letting out a long, merciful exhale through his nose, something that sounds and feels like pure relief.

 

Confident again he tightens even more his arm around her, shifting closer if possible, his chest pushing slightly on her back with each inhale.   

 

Some part of her wants to be stiff and cold against him but she only melts, securing his hold as she keeps his forearm stuck under her own.

 

She falls fast asleep to the sound of his breathing. 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0_aFSNB8E5Y


	6. Pretend

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ... my bad, I found some internet in the backyard
> 
> ((Extra short chapter (the way I used to make them once upon a time) to assure that the next one won't be too long))

 

Every night she comes to his door, and every night he lets her in.

 

Still, she persists to go to his cabin unnecessarily late in the evening -sometimes after midnight- in an attempt to postpone the inevitable until there's no way around it.

 

For hours beforehand, she wants to entertain the idea that she doesn't need this; that it helps her sleep -that's all there is to it, a good night sleep- but that she can very well fall back into a sleepless life.

It's not the worst thing, being insomniac. 

 

...that if he were to leave one day, - _when_  he'd leave- her life would go back to--

\--it would go back to-

 

\--it would go back.

 

She's very careful not to go into all the other reasons why she always ends up going to him anyway, finding some poor consolation in believing that  _she could very well not go_. She just decides otherwise.

 

During the day, in the meantime, she ignores him through and through, with a fierce determination.

 

She doesn't get near him anymore, doesn't want to talk to him, even to ask him random questions like she used to in the beginning.

 

She spends hours arranging cans on the shelves in the station even though given how deserted it is, they both are very aware there's no use for her to do anything.

 

His behavior around her changes.

 

She doesn't think much of it at first, ignoring it, but soon she's forced to see that he appears to be bothered somewhat when she's at his door -irritated, impatient.

He doesn't look at her directly, stops making it easy for her to climb into his bed by taking her wrist, and whenever she talks to him he barely makes a sound in response.

She can't exactly pinpoint why, because after being more or less cold to her he always tightens his hold around her once she's in bed with him, so much so some nights that she almost has a hard time breathing.

 

She can't make sense of any of it.

 

One night she finds the door ajar and the light on. Pushing the door open, she first sees Grasshopper under the table, at its usual spot; the lamb raises its head and tilts it at the intrusion.

 

It must think it's a fucking dog.

 

It's not long before her attention is drawn to the bed.

 

Solo's lying there. He's on his back, with his usual long sleeved undershirt on, his left arm crossing the bed, hand hanging from the edge. His right hand rests on his belly, moving up and down to the rhythm of his breathing.

She can't see his face because his head is turned to the wall, but she sees at the way his chest slowly rises and falls that he's already asleep.

 

It's a first.

 

She approaches with very wary steps.

 

She never gets to look at him freely, without him looking back. Never.

 

Her hand trembles a bit at her side from finally getting the opportunity.

 

She bends a bit to see the side of his face.

 

His hair curl around his forehead and temples. His eyes are closed under very relaxed eyebrows, and his mouth's in a slight pout.

 

Peaceful like a baby.

 

But then, her eyes wanders lower, and the sight is a bit less innocent.

 

The blanket has been pulled to his waist.

His undershirt doesn't conceal much of his form underneath.

 

She wants his chest against hers. She wants to feel a shoulder, a bicep under the palm of her hand.

 

Holding her breath, with very slow movements, she climbs into the bed making sure the mattress doesn't move too suddenly under her weight, and lies down next to him, letting her head rest very progressively on his shoulder, her cheek pressed to him.

 

Once she's sure he hasn't woken up, she encircles her arm around his chest, her left hand flat on his ribs.

 

She then shifts very carefully to have her whole front flushed against his side-

 

-her chest, her stomach, her hips.

 

She doesn't move an inch, doesn't dare breathing too hard despite her heart hammering like it's gonna break free any second.

 

To her relief, he doesn't move either, and his breathing stays the same.

 

So, slowly, very slowly, storing in her mind every second of it, she runs her hand across the expanse of his chest.

 

How bold of her.

 

The fabric is thin, and she can feel the warmth of his skin through it. She wishes she could slide her hand under the shirt, feel how soft he is, how firm.

 

She swallows, and for some reason she wants to brush her nose and mouth against him, so she does, careful not to move her head too frankly.

 

At last, she folds her left leg, lifts it--

\--and encircles his waist gently with it, resting her thigh across his hips.

 

She understands he was awake all along only when despite his breathing remaining steady and his body immobile, his head still turned to the wall-

 

...his right hand silently reaches for the blanket, and pulls on it to cover her up.

 

She withdraws her hand from his chest to tuck it under her chin, caught, her cheeks burning.

 

Just when she's about to remove her leg as well, he catches her knee firmly through the blanket to hold it there -making his intentions abondantly clear by finally casually encircling her waist with his other arm. Trapping her.

 

The next day, she can't bear to have him look at her.

So she runs inside the station every time she hears that he's near, or as soon as she sees him from afar when he comes back from the forest -only glancing at him through the glass door.

 

And if her avoiding him hurts him in any way, he pretends like it doesn't.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jWFb5z3kUSQ
> 
> For the people who left comments on the "fake update", I screenshot them before deleting the chapter, like a complete weirdo  
> couldn't stand for them to be lost ^^
> 
> I can't have internet for long, so let me confirm that I'll answer your previous comments tomorrow
> 
> (Leiamylabrador suggested this song for our protagonists relationship:  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YnaEoCY_vzc
> 
> If you want to suggest one that seems fit or makes you think of this story, don't hesitate posting it in the comment)


	7. The spoon

 

She stays away from him, but no matter how much she'd like to act like she doesn't care, she's counting the minutes until the night falls.

 

She paces inside the station, then in front of it, then inside her cabin -she takes a shower to get clean, sure, but also to snap out of it, and it doesn't work.

 

When she gets out of the shower she sits and the next thing she knows her hair are already dry and she hasn't moved an inch, her eyes lost somewhere in front of her.

 

When it's dark, dark in a way that makes her feel like her secret is safe, even though she's sharing it with the man she'd like to hide it from, she finally sneaks out and creeps to his cabin.

 

Her steps on the dirt, even barefoot, are deafening in the silence.

 

She'd like for him to not be able to tell already that she's coming, but he must hear her.

 

Except he's not, because while the light's on and the door's ajar like the night before, he's not here when she opens the door.

 

The lamb's here. It's not asleep.

 

She pads toward the bed, and sits at the center of it, rocking a bit nervously from front to back, waiting for him to come back.

 

Not that she's worried sick.

 

Where the fuck is he ?

 

She curls into a ball, face on the mattress and arms folded against her chest, eyes on the door.

 

She stays like this for quite some time, enough time to feel her eyelids become heavy, but she doesn't close her eyes.

 

Eventually, the door opens, and he's there.

 

He comes in and closes the door without giving her a single glance.

 

She sits up right away, her chin forward in attention, her eyes following him as he crosses the room -she doesn't even pay attention to what he's doing at first, she's just waiting for him to acknowledge her in some small way -but he doesn't. Too busy.

 

He's looking for something in his duffle bag.

 

He doesn't appear to be in a hurry, nor does he seem agitated at all.

Nothing important is on his mind.

He's simply going about his business as if she wasn't there.

 

"...where were you?"  she tries, -and he doesn't answer.

 

"I was worried," she says again with a small voice, barely moving her lips, her head a bit down.

 

It's a challenge for her to say it aloud, so when he doesn't react to it at all she feels her cheeks burn with shame and hurt.

 

After letting it brew, she mumbles:

 

"You're a stutterer, not a mute."

 

"I'm _Ben_ ," he corrects.

 

She lowers her head down some more at that, twidling with the blanket.

 

Grasshopper has been following him around, dancing so close to Solo's feet that he could have tripped on it three times.

He stops and takes the animal in his arms.

 

She gets up finally, and approaches him -but that doesn't get his attention either.

 

Her eyes fall on the lamb.

 

Solo's holding it like a baby, burying his nose in the fur of its neck, planting loud kisses there.

 

Anger burns her throat, making it difficult to breathe properly, but she's just as crushed by how unjustified that anger is.

 

"Why do you kiss it ?"

She asks it softly, but she's still unable to hide the accusatory tone underneath.

 

He looks at her at last.

 

"Why not ?"

 

She's disarmed a bit by how soft his tone is. She wasn't expecting patience.

It's still an answer that annoys her.

 

"It's stupid," she whispers.

 

"--why?" he tries again.

 

Cornering her is that simple. She falls silent.

 

If he wasn't looking at her a minute before that's all he's doing now as he absentmindedly pets the lamb.

 

And she can't look back at him at first, but she does when he gets closer to her: 

 

"Hold it," he tells her, handing her the lamb.

 

It looks and sounds like he's asking a favor, like he actually needs her to hold the lamb for a moment, so she takes it. 

 

She has it against her chest then, and she's not holding it right; her arms are just under its front legs, and it's stretching its neck upward, with its tongue peeking out, while his back legs are kicking against nothing. 

 

He clicks his tongue in impatience: "No. Firmly," he says, pulling on her arms to rearrange them. 

 

"I _am_ holding it firmly," she protests barely high enough to be heard, trying to do better, all her attention on the lamb as she's frowning in concentration. She'll know only later that it was a diversion.

 

He puts his hands on the lamb's neck, and bends to plant two more kisses on its head, and she's confused, because there's no reason for her to hold it if all he wanted to do was kiss it some more-

 

\--but that train of thought is interrupted when she feels his lips press generously against her chest; a bit higher than her heart, next to the lamb's head.

 

She jolts instantly at the contact. 

 

Dropping the lamb.

 

The animal falls with a light thump and jumps right up, baaing, utterly offended. If it could scowl it would.

It runs around aimlessly, kicking some cans down in the process.

 

Meanwhile, Solo stands immobile and looks at her, with the blank expression of a chemist looking at the reaction of two elements together after nonchalantly fiddling with them, as she immediately hurries to climb into the bed, breaths short, blinking, stammering: "We, you---we should, it's, it's---let's sleep.  _Let's sleep now_."

The lamb finally calms down and goes to lie down under the table.

 

She's on her knees on the bed looking up at him expectantly but he stays on the other side of the room.

She's squirming nervously, waiting for him to accede her demand and join her, not daring to lie down on her own, but he only looks at her in response with the same unfazed expression. 

 

She keeps looking back and forth between him and anything around them, still moving nervously under his enduring gaze.

 

After a moment, a resolution seems to fall on his face, his traits softening: 

 

"You can stay," he says, quietly, but still with the confidence of a generous King granting permission to his subject.

 

She almost scoffs, letting her shoulders relax somewhat, as she replies dryly, although quite low as she's not confident enough to mock him that frankly just yet:

 

" _Thank you_ , that's very nice of you--"

 

But she gets interrupted: 

 

"...if you strip."

 

He says it with a flat tone, as if it was the most legitimate condition there was.

She jerks her head up, blinking, and the word falling from her lips sounds like a strangled mew:

"-- _what_ -"

 

He's got no problem confirming it for her:

"Strip."

 

Bewildered, she looks at him as he walks toward the table and pulls on his shirt to take it off.

 

"--n-no," she protests weakly, with a small, pleading voice she doesn't recognize. 

 

And to think she held this man at gunpoint. 

 

"Then _out_ ," he concludes flatly, folding his shirt and putting it on the table ---before pulling down his pants. 

 

She turns her head sharply in the opposite direction, her heart pounding.

 

She hears him approach her, and before he can do anything else she gets out of the bed.

 

He lies down on his back and pulls the blanket to his waist, unbothered by her apparent turmoil, before turning his head to her. 

 

She shifts from one foot to the other a few times under the expectant look he gives her.

 

Finally, she swallows, her face hot when she barely manages to articulate with a dry throat:

 

"Don't,--don't ------don't look."

 

He maintains his eyes on her for a few seconds-

 

\--before silently turning his head toward the wall.

 

As an additionnal precaution, she turns around, breathing a bit harder when her hands reach for the hem of her tank top to slowly pull it over her head. She undresses warily.

 

Once she's completely bare, her shoulders up as if she was cold, arms to her chest, she doesn't wait long before turning back around, the oddity of standing there naked getting overwhelming.

 

But as she does, she sees he turned his head back toward her in the meantime to watch her.

 

 _"I said don't look!"_ she shouts, outraged.

 

He keeps his eyes on her, unfazed ---his only reaction being to pull on the blanket as a silent invitation to hide under it. 

 

... and she compliantly runs to do so, rushing to lie down next to him.

 

In an attempt to hide some more, she shifts against him with her arms still to her chest, trying to hide her face as well.

But after he pulled the blanket over her waist he takes support on one elbow and bends over her a bit to have a better view, making the bed creak, before he gently pushes her shoulder to lay her down on her back instead, pulling her wrist away from her chest to see what's underneath. 

 

While he does this though, as a last resort, she turns her head and sees the lamp on the floor near the bed. Her eyes not leaving it she tentatively starts reaching for it to turn it off, as if there was any way she could do it discreetly without him noticing.

But she watches as his hand silently reaches as well to keep hers from attaining its goal, bringing it back into bed.

 

She swallows in embarrassment, and focuses on looking at the ceiling for a few moments. 

 

The whole weight of his body against her side and her hip makes something throb loud at her core, so  _loud_  she can't think. 

 

His face is a few inches from hers now. She can feel his breath on the side of her face. 

 

She's never been in a situation like this one. She's never been seen like this -not even when she lost her virginity, given that the boy she's lost it with kept his clothes on and she did too the whole five minutes it lasted.

 

Her heart is out of control, but she's desperate to look somewhat composed, hoping her exhales aren't too obviously shaky.

 

He on the other hand, doesn't seem shaken about all this.

 

He looks right at her face with languid eyes, before he very ostentatiously lowers his gaze to have a good look at her.

 

She tries to regulate her breathing so that her chest doesn't rise and fall too unevenly under his gaze -failing. 

 

She sees him stare a few seconds before he slowly lowers his mouth to her nipple and presses a full kiss there, releasing a wet sound as he does.

 

Her cheeks are set aflame.

She clears her throat.

 

He doesn't pay attention to that and brushes his nose against it, then presses another slow kiss on the soft pad.

 

He looks back at her face then while his hand lingers flat at the base of her neck -before it's soon caressing its way down. 

 

He strokes one breast then the other, loosely dragging his thumb at their center, and she looks at him do, feeling herself becoming a bit breathless already.

 

His hands there make for such an alien sight -herself never touched her breasts that way.Her hands have only been there whenever she had to wash.

 

She shuts her eyes hard for a few seconds.

He must feel her heart hammering underneath. Her foot rubs nervously against the mattress.

 

He looks down, frowns, then shifts to put his thigh between her legs, pressing down with his weight, watching her reaction intently as he traps her -she swallows and writhes weakly in response.  

 

He resumes his round, soft, flat handed caresses on her hip, her breasts, down on her thigh, ending each of them with lazy, light squeezes that make her anticipate the next with repressed gasps. 

She starts arching her back despite herself, unable to do so properly under his weight, making the pressure at her center all the more demanding. 

 

She exhales a shaky _uugh_ widening her eyes a bit when his hand gives her ass a good squeeze, stronger than the precedents, and she can see he's trying to keep from chuckling. 

 

He's growing hard against her hip, yet she becomes hot all over in shame when she feels herself wetting the top of his thigh.

 

She tries not to shiver when each contact of his lips becomes part of a countdown, as he patiently kisses his way up her neck, her jaw, before finally pressing a slow, chaste one on her mouth.

 

She hears herself hum against him.

His lips are so full, so hot on her own, she follows him without thinking when he tries to pull back -but he does pull back to look down at her, making sure she understands he's a witness of this. Her face burns in embarrassment again.

 

He presses his thigh some more at her center, making her hiccup. He doesn't even try to hide the smug smile that plays on his lips -although he's not cruel in the end, because he soon presses a few more kisses on her lips, deepening them finally with slow, languorous caresses of his tongue against hers -making them both a bit more breathless in the process.

 

She withdraws her hands from his chest as if burnt when she realizes she's ran them there in the meantime. 

He doesn't gloat, too busy parting her legs to finally settle between them. 

 

She tries to refrain from bucking her hips up too frankly and sighs despite herself when he's down on her again, placing himself at her entrance.

 

He clenches his jaw when he very gradually pushes into her, his eyes not leaving her face, making it obvious he doesn't want to miss anything happening there. She makes her feelings about all this evident when she muffles a first moan biting her lip, a crease forming between her brows, giving a roll of her hips without meaning to.

 

Shameful, she still opens her legs more, arches her back, her eyes glassy as she presses her lips together to keep from giving voice to the current running up her entire body -and he looks down at her to watch her do so, his breathing becoming heavier at the sight as he pushes more inside her, stretching her gently, before he starts giving slow thrusts to get fully seated. 

 

She shuts her eyes hard, and he stops his thrusts to grind langorously against her instead, her legs folded at his sides, rolling in the same slow rhythm. She gulps some air then manages to remain silent -until a high pitch whine hatches all the way from under her breastbone.

 

He stops.

 

She wriggles, blinking, colors coming back to her, and clears her throat once again.

 

He waits a few seconds, and it seems he does so only to highlight her reaction and relish in it, his eyes on her face still. 

 

He tentatively resumes his grinding, his belly flushed against hers, as he breathes a bit harder through his nose -taking his time, savoring it, he grinds, basking in her restlesness as all of it brings forth her impatience -all the while refusing to give in to her.

 

The rolls of his pelvis remain the slowest possible despite her gripping at his shoulders and his waist, and a delicious warmth blooms against her ribs from within, like waves, to her hips, her center, to her lungs, down to her knee---

 

She starts kicking the bed a bit somewhat with the heel of her foot. It's nervous, and she doesn't know what's the cause of it: that he's seeing her like this, that they both know he's the source of it; the slow steadiness of the progression -she feels on edge, and she truly wants to kick, pull on his hair, _anything_ \---

 

As if she wanted to eat a huge meal in one bite, except for one it's not possible, and also,  _she's not holding the spoon_. She hates it.

 

Yet she,  _she_ \--

 

"---feels good, _feels good_. _.._ it feels good--" she whispers between hot breaths, incoherent, as she regressed to the speaking capacity of a four year-old.

 

He humsin agreement, keeping the same steady pace.

 

Looking straight at her scrunched up face while she can do nothing but take it.

 

She can do nothing but watch him bring her closer, closer, _closer_ \--

 

She closes her thighs on him to trap him there, digging his skin with her nails, craning her neck, and he presses her down in the mattress grinding still while it washes over her.

 

She lets out ragged moans coming down while he kisses her open mouth; her feet trembling, and her legs weak.

 

She goes soft under him, running her hands on his chest, sated.

 

Her eyes widen when he gradually picks up the pace, his eyes glued on her tits as he seems very interested in watching them bounce-

 

\--before he pulls out and comes on her belly, panting harshly, watching as some of his cum gets on one of her tits and a drop reaches her chin.

 

She's still in a haze so she watches it happen, confused, her hand reaching to wipe it off--

 

He stops her, stroking himself as he comes down -looking at his mess until finally, he lets go of his cock, spent, and bends to grab a shirt.

 

Carefully, he wipes off her chin, still a bit out of breath, before wiping off the rest.

 

He throws the shirt away, and she squeaks when he hurries to lie back down on her, pinning her down with his weight again. She doesn't have the strength nor the will to push him off her. 

 

He wipes off the sweat on her forehead, pushing the hair away, and gives her wet, tender kisses she's ashamed of taking so openly, before he shifts and rests his head down on her chest, as he apparently decided he was going to sleep there.

 

Her hands are in his hair immediately, but she doesn't run them there for long, soon falling asleep.

 

The next morning, she wakes up before him.

 

She gets out of bed silently -then runs to her cabin. 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=W5b0iu4dKBo
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> LeiaMyLabrador suggested this song for our protagonists relationship:  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YnaEoCY_vzc
> 
> Thank you <3<3
> 
> If this story makes you think of a song in particular, don't hesitate to post it in the comment section =)


	8. A flower

 

  

The Guards should be up, still there's hope they might not be awake yet.

 

They're supposed to take turns during the night, but this road is so deserted that they've just given up on that.

 

Not that Ben has anything to hide. He just doesn't want to see their faces that early in the morning.

 

As he passes the station though, he sees Zue sitting in one of the beach chairs.

 

And Zue's actually pretty okay. Ben's known her for eight whole years now.

They've never been close, because they've never had an exchange significant enough to even call it a conversation. But somehow, they know each other. Quite well.

 

The one Ben really can't stand is fucking Juzio. He arrived at the station six months ago, and every encounter with him has been testing Ben's patience.

The third and last one, Deborah, is almost as fucked in the head as him.

 

But Zue's quiet. 

So quiet in fact, that she's really been silent most of the time if not all the time, this past year.

 

He's seen Guards lose it before. 

 

He gives her six months at best.

 

When he's at her level, he hears her ask flatly: 

 

"Solo. Where you going?"

 

He turns to look at her. He knows she'll be able to tell it's a lie, given the direction in which he's about to go, but he lies anyway, not wanting to go into details -not that she's the kind to be more curious than that:

"In the forest."

 

Implying he's going where he always go.

 

Zue's eyes are empty. 

 

"Safe trip," she says.

 

He doesn't know in that moment that those are the last words he'll ever hear from her. 

Safe trip.

 

It'll take him two days to go by foot to Maz's house. It's in the forest, yet it's shorter to get there if he takes the road the first miles, but he's in the fucking sun the whole time. 

Fucking Maz.

 

He receives a letter earlier this week. 

_A fucking letter._

 

Like, a message written on a piece of paper, in an enveloppe. He can't remember the last time he's even seen one. 

 

He gets it six weeks after it's been sent,  _of course_. It hasn't been sent from too far away, and it usually takes a week for a letter to arrive at destination.

 

But that's what you get for living in the middle of nowhere, he supposes -especially if you're just a poor fuck among others.

 

Still that's unfortunate, because the information would have deserved to be delivered sooner.

 

Maz is dying. 

 

The person who's taking care of her won't be able to do so anymore, _in a month._

 

That means that when he gets the letter, Maz's been by herself for two weeks.

 

She's got no one else.

Come to think of it, he's got no one else either.

 

But he's already used to being alone. Even as a kid, he was quite the loner.

 

And soon, he'll truly be the last one standing of all the people he used to know. Not that life allowed him to know them that well -including his parents.

 

Both Leia and Han have been executed before he was sixteen, although years apart, for helping out irregulars.

 

Maz is one of them.

 

She's the only person he knows who doesn't have a chip in her wrist.

 

Maz is a tiny, very petite dark skinned woman, who's always shaved her head.

She has one of the most beautiful faces he's ever seen, and when he was little, he used to say he'd marry her -because he was a very romantic boy.

 

He thinks that might also have to do with the fact that she's the one who taught him how to read. 

 

And when he would read aloud, for some reason, his stutter would go away -and his stutter was bad, _really bad_ at this age.

 

...marriage got outlawed before he turned eighteen anyway.

 

His father used to joke about how Maz wasn't human -that she didn't age.

Since not a minute would pass without Han bullshitting, and even though Ben was young, he never took it seriously.

 

But when he arrives at the tiny house made of rough stones, that Maz has decided to claim as her own years ago, not too far from the northern river, he's forced to see that  _she hasn't changed_  somehow.

 

She looks weak, the weakest she could ever look surely, but her lips are still full, and her skin and her eyes are still strongly dark.

 

Fuck, some could even say she looks younger than him now -- _how ??_

 

She was maybe thirty, when he was eight and they met for the first time. 

 

That'd make her fifty today.

 

Only her voice seems to betray her age -raspy, ragged, although that might only be the disease.  

 

He finds her under ten blankets, on the couch -if you can call that a couch.

 

Her eyes are open, and she doesn't seem the least bit perturbed to finally see someone, after spending two weeks alone.

 

"My flower," she just says to greet him.

 

He hasn't been called that for years. 

 

The last time he's seen her, he was fourteen. He's surprised she's recognized him that fast. He'd say he doesn't exactly look the way he did. 

 

As if she could read his mind, she says to him:

 

"... the ears, boy."

 

 _Right_.

 

That's how his days with Maz start.

 

Mainly, he cooks for her, and that doesn't require any special talents, given what little they have -cans, naturally- although he does have to fish a lot.

 

It doesn't make him feel that useful, because she barely eats.

 

She also asks him to take care of her plants and the garden behind the house, but she mustn't have been outside in a while.

 

Because everything's dead.

Obviously, she doesn't know about it.

 

Some of the plants, he sees, were incredibly rare and fragile specimens, and it's a feat she managed to have them grow here in the first place. 

 

He doesn't have the courage to tell her it's all gone to shit. So he just nods, and avoids the subject the rest of the time.

 

But more importantly, she wants him to take care of her sheep.

 

That fucking animal. She loves it more than anything. She calls it _Tulip_.

 

Tulip has her own schedule. She's in good health, because the river isn't that far, and there's plenty of grass around.

 

She gives birth to a lamb one day, and Ben gives her no assistance.

He wouldn't know what to do, and he's unmoved by the event.

 

Maz on the other hand, cries tears of joy when she meets the lamb.

 

The new born is utterly confused with everything. It makes Ben laugh and cringe at the same time, because the restlessness of the lamb is as funny as it is irritating.

 

He can't be sure just by looking at it if those are actual Cactus sheeps, but he has the confirmation very quickly, because Maz loves talking about it:

 

"I raised her. She's my baby," she says out of nowhere one of the afternoons they spend together. Gesturing toward the lamb, she adds: "She's got this one out of her first mating, ever."

 

Then turning her head to him:

 

"It's the only Cactus sheep I've seen that hasn't died from being separated from its mate. Isn't it lucky?"

 

Ben shrugs.

 

"Actually," she goes on, "it's a  _miracle_. It never happens. I've seen other Cactus sheeps die this way. They stop drinking, stop eating, but more importantly,  _they stop moving_. Trust me, it's a sight that haunts you for months."

 

"Why would you  _t-t-t_ " Ben starts, then he changes the word: "-- _risk_  it, and separate it f-from its mate t-then?"

 

He remembers that Maz was the only person he could speak whole sentences around as a kid.

Years apart have changed that.

 

"I didn't," she says shaking her head weakly,"somebody stole the male one night. An irregular, no doubt. I'm not mad," -she smiles, looking at the sheep. "She's still alive, that's all that matters.

 

Her smile disappears, and she avoids his gaze all of a sudden. 

 

And just like that, he knows what she wants him to say. 

So he says it. 

 

"I'll take care of her, Maz."

 

An he hates that he will.

He doesn't need the company of a damn sheep.

 

As days pass, Maz becomes aggressive.

 

She pisses herself. A lot. So when he wants to help her clean, for instance, her tone changes dramatically.

 

" _Fuck off_ , Ben."

 

She vomits a lot what she eats, and he tries to get her to drink at least. She shows her irritation plainly: 

 

"Get  _fucked_ , Solo. Leave me the fuck alone,  _will you_?"

 

He doesn't react to it, but one time she adds: "You've disappeared for years, surely you can let me be in peace a bit longer."

 

That stops him in his tracks.

 

"F-f---" he starts, eyes narrowed, then stops, to breathe through his nose. She seems to brace herself. He stays silent for so long that for a moment there, she seems to believe he won't retort anything after all.

 

"Fuck you, Maz."

 

She was wrong.

 

Still, systematically, regardless of what's been said during the day, he always lies down next to her to hold her through the night. 

 

He doesn't really know why he does, because she didn't ask for it. 

 

It can only be because that's what Leia used to do when he was sick as a kid. 

 

She'd stay away from him, awkward with her own son in more ways than one -but when he'd fall sick, she'd always come to sleep in his small bed and hold him.

 

So that's what he ends up doing with Maz too.

 

One night, he wakes her up when he lies down on the couch next to her.

 

He's about to apologize, but he stops when he sees the beginning of a smile on her lips. 

 

"My beautiful child. My boy..." she whispers, bringing a hand to his cheek. She closes her eyes, so he relaxes a bit, sure she went back to sleep and he closes his eyes as well, when he hears her again:

 

"---my flower."

 

 

 

When he wakes up the next morning, she's cold. Stiff.

 

Dead.

 

His eyes stay on her as he waits to feel something. Anything.

 

He doesn't get why, but he feels empty. He repeats to himself,  _there, it happened. She's dead, she's really dead._  

 

But he feels nothing.

 

There's a small shovel behind the house. He uses it to dig a hole in her garden -it takes a lot of time to do so, the tool being barely useful. 

 

Her body goes more rigid by the hour. He wraps her up in a blanket, and lay her down in the hole.

 

Once she's in the ground, he considers leaving. 

 

But then, there's Tulip. How is this gonna work: he's gonna walk with the sheep and its lamb for two days until they reach the station?

 

Is he supposed to have it on a leash?

 

So for the moment being, he decides to stay.

 

Discovering soon enough he won't have to worry about all that.

 

The lamb is extremely clumsy, nervous, jumpy, but it's gaining confidence every day. Tulip in comparison, is obviously much more collected.

 

Which is why Ben couldn't have thought anything of it when the mother lies down, that night after he buried Maz.

 

The sheep lies down on its side, the way it does most times. Nothing out of the ordinary.

 

So he doesn't pay attention to it. 

Not that paying attention would have changed anything.

 

The next morning, he finds Tulip in the same position.

 

He nudges her with his feet. "Hey."

 

He can see her side rising and falling, her eyes blinking. Beside that, she's not moving. 

 

At all.

 

He pets her behind her ears gently, trying to get her to move. She doesn't.

 

 _What the hell,_  he mutters. 

The lamb runs gawkily from the door to her, to the door, and back to her again, over and over, sometimes circling Ben's feet.

 

Somewhere deep down, he makes the link between Maz's death and Tulip's sudden inertia.

 

He refuses to follow that train of thought, and believes Tulip simply needs to rest, or that she's ill, and she'll get up soon.

 

But the sheep doesn't get up -not then, nor will it ever get back up.

 

No matter how many times Ben rocks the animal a bit, call it, pet it, no matter if he brings water to its mouth.

 

Tulip just stays still, and Ben feels himself panicking.

 

The lamb keeps on trying to get its mother to move, baaing, suckling, chewing its fur, and to be the witness of that is an unbearable thing.

 

He has no choice but to look at Tulip die.

 

When he realizes that, Ben finally breaks down.

 

\-- crying all the tears his body can produce.

 

Maz is dying all over again.

 

He can't stand to wait for Tulip to draw her last breath, although that would be the noble, respectful thing to do.

 

But the lamb is crying constantly.

 

So he picks the lamb up, and fucking leaves. 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4S9YtRnlPMk
> 
>  
> 
> (...yup, you got that right. Maz is embodied by Lupita Nyong'o here^^)
> 
> We'll have at least two other chapters from Ben's POV at some point, and the fic should count more chapters than planned -like one or two additional chapters.


	9. Tough luck

 

Ben feels the cold falling on his shoulders. 

 

He first tells himself he's going out for a stroll. But what's the point in pretending. That's not something he does, certainly not at night. 

He usually reads before going to bed. That's what he used to do, anyway.

Now he can't focus long enough for that. Whatever he's up to he always ends up asking himself what _she's_ doing.  

Right now, what he's curious about what she'll do when she sees he's not in his bed. From a good distance, if he's quiet, he'll go unnoticed despite the moonlight. 

As usual, he has to wait a while. She always comes out so late. 

But eventually, there she is. Padding her way through the night. 

 

In this moment, he has mixed feelings.

 

Very, very mixed feelings.

 

She doesn't show any affection to Tulip's baby, unless he's not there to witness it. He's caught her a few times though. 

She can't look straight at him, but he catches her eyes on him at times, and she quickly looks somewhere else. 

It's like her true nature is fighting to get through, but she won't let it. It's not cute, or tragic, or beautiful. It's frustrating, and annoying.

 

He wonders what she'd be like, if she hadn't been a Guard.

She'd probably not be as much of a little shit as she's proved herself to be, ever since he met her. 

 

She wants to be around him.

She's wanted to be around him since day one, even though he, on the other hand, really wanted to be alone. 

Her incessant questions, her constant probing told him this much. That's just loneliness, he thinks to himself, and he's unmoved by it all for the longest time. Whether she's here or not, it makes no difference to him.

 

But a few weeks have passed since then, and lately she seems to really be trying to make a point of never breathing the same air as him during the day.

 

He's trying, _reeeally_ trying to fall back into the indifference it's inspired him before. 

It doesn't work. 

 

It's alright. 

He'll show her.

 

The first days after coming back from Maz's, when he notices she watches him from afar, failing to be discreet about it, he winces. 

She doesn't have any playmates. _Tough luck_. Not his problem.

Clearly she's not used to being alone, but he is.

 

No Guard has ever been good news. They're vicious, emotionally crippled, and dangerous -he doesn't care about their shitty upbringings. People across the world grow up in misery, it doesn't make them systematic threats. 

 

In the first minute he's in her sight, she points a gun at him.

It just goes to prove his fucking point. 

 

These fucking people. 

 

A new Guard at that. He's just blessed, he is. _What idiot did they send to him now?_  He thinks, ignoring his immediate thoughts about Zue.

 

Then, before he knows it, the weirdo forms a habit of disturbing his peace by coming at any moment during the day to ask him random questions -before walking away with quick steps.

To get away from her, he spends most of his time in the forest. 

 

One day, he's tying a nylon wire to the side of his cabin that will serve to dry his laundry, when he hears behind him:

"Have you always lived here?"

 

He tries to refrain from sighing too loudly. 

"No."

 

He's sure she'd like him to elaborate. Well he won't. 

 

"What do you do in the forest?"

He clicks his tongue. "Nothing."

 

That's close enough from the truth. What does she think he does? What is there to do there? He fishes, sometimes, not always, because he's usually too lazy.

He reads by the river, before he usually _sleeps_ by the river, because reading is fairly soporific to him. He washes himself, washes his clothes. 

He could wash at the sink in his cabin, but it doesn't compare, obviously. Even though his skin is always red from how fucking cold the water is. 

But more importantly he takes the lamb there. 

There's plenty of grass, so it gets to eat, and play in the water a bit -a bit, because if the current is stronger than most days it scares it. 

 

All details he could say to her, but he doesn't.

 

He looks at her this time, and that's when he catches it. He wasn't even looking for it. 

 

A pout, but a genuine one -the slightest tremor of her lip, eyes flicking from one thing to the next, a hesitation in her hand as she's absentmindedly picking something off the wood of his cabin. 

 

She's trying to find something else to ask -or any excuse to prolong for a bit the poor exchange they're having.

 

And she's hurt by his short answers.

 

Is this it? He sometimes asks himself.

Is this when it happened?

He wouldn't know, but from that moment on, no matter how hard he tries not to pay attention to it, that's all he sees. 

 

Like a fucking idiot, when he leaves for the forest, he starts telling her when he'll be back, so that she'll know how long she'll have to be alone -and hence how long she'll have to wait before she's not alone again.

Because apparently he cares that she knows, for some reason.  

 

She doesn't know it, but he often, very often catches her asleep on her beach chair. Almost not a day goes by that it doesn't happen. 

He looks at her. She's way too exhausted for a Guard who doesn't do shit all day. It doesn't take a very smart man to understand that she's not sleeping at night. 

He forces his mind not to go into why. And he spectacularly fails. 

 

When he's in his bed at night, before he falls asleep, he thinks about her. He wonders if she sits in her bed, or if she goes for a walk sometimes, or if she lies down in her bed nonetheless, awake for hours, waiting for the sun to come up. 

_Why would he give a fuck?_

 

One night, he's about to go to bed when he remembers he left his clothes to dry on the nylon wire, so he gets out to take them.

Just as he does, he hears her. 

He turns, and he sees her. Padding in the moonlight. 

 

Her steps are hesitant, her arms stuck to her sides -from the cold? She's not wearing anything warm, and _what in the hell_ , she's barefoot?- she approaches his cabin. 

 

She doesn't notice him until he shifts slightly. 

 

He lets her in.

He's the stutterer of them two, but tonight she's the one looking for the right words, for a good excuse to be asking for his company at this hour, when she's barely capable of asking for his company during the day in the first place, and she stammers, she doesn't know where to look, her lip trembles again -it's painful to watch. 

So painful he's almost rough when he grabs her.

 

 _I got you, you're not going anywhere,_  he thinks. 

 

She's clearly confused when he makes her climb into his bed, but he's not gonna waste his time trying to explain, he wouldn't know where to start, and he's not the kind to talk at length. She's held him at gunpoint once, he trusts she'll let him know if she has any objection to what's happening. 

 

In the bed, he feels her going completely rigid against him, her breath short, so to help her relax, he counters it by actually tightening his hold on her even more.  

"Stop moving," he orders when she moves her feet nervously. 

Her breathing's more even soon. She's doing good. 

 

Not five minutes later, she's sleeping.

 

Later during the night, he wakes up.

Because she's digging his skin with her nails. He hisses, in a haze, and removes his arm before taking her hand in his.

She's not moving at all. 

 

Out of nowhere, he hears: 

 

"Where's Zue?"

 

He opens his eyes.

She's articulated the words very clearly, with a flat tone -not too loud, but aloud. In the silence of the cabin, it has the strangest effect on him. The way she spoke, so easily, only leads him to believe she's awake, at first. 

What indicates to him that she's actually asleep is a simple clue: she wouldn't have any reason to ask _him_ where's Zue, given that she knows he was absent when whatever happened to that woman happened. 

Not to mention she's a strange soul, but she wouldn't ask him that in the middle of the night, now, would she?

He sighs. 

 

"I don't know", he replies with a hoarse voice, before closing his eyes again.  

He slowly relaxes. She's silent for the longest time, so he's truly unprepared to hear what she whispers next. 

 

"Where's Solo?"

 

His eyes flick open.

 

His heart is racing in an instant, and that only adds to his confusion.

He blinks, clearing his throat: 

 

"H-Here, I'm here."

 

She stays silent for so long yet again, but he knows better now, and he almost holds his breath the whole time wondering if she'll speak again. But despite the fact that he expects it, he still shudders when he hears her whisper even lower: 

 

"...where is he?"

 

The whole thing is so strange, so unsettling, that he lets his voice boom a bit through her in response: 

" _Here_ , Rey."

 

He's wide awake then, and he remains that way until he actually hears her breathing go back to a quiet pace.

 

The next day, she suggests he sells the lamb to some rich assholes.

She has a special talent, hasn't she?

 

It triggers something incredibly ugly in him. He shouts, effectively scaring her away.

 

And after that, she doesn't come to him, even tentatively like she often does, even to kick the lamb, or for any other reason. She stays away.

 

And when _he_ comes to _her_ , she runs to her cabin and slams the door.

 

 _So?_ asks a petulant, juvenile voice inside his head. _So what? So what?_ It insists. 

 

So,---so, he, he...

 

... he knows she won't get out, but he still sits his back against her cabin, near the door. 

And he actually thinks about what could make it right. He thinks long and hard about it.

 

 _Why does it matter? Let her sulk_ , says the voice.

 

After maybe a hour, he gets up and leave. If she finally enjoys being alone, _good for her_. He doesn't care. 

He doesn't.

 

 _But he does_ , the fool, because when she's in front of him two hours later, he says _sorry_  faster than he can think it. 

 

And when she climbs into bed, when he can finally hold her against him, he can breathe again. 

That's when he fully grasps the situation. 

There's no turning back possible now -there's no denying how dependent on her he's become anymore.

He doesn't know how he feels about his attachment to someone who's so painfully unable to match his affection.

 

He's unaware that she's yet to show him the full extent of her inadequacy. He thought she did show him, since she's once suggested they turn their arms blue, since she's kicked the lamb and tried to sell it, since she's insulted him for his stutter - _how original._ But she didn't.

He doesn't know how unprepared and unexperienced she is with... _feelings_ , until she very clearly starts avoiding him during the day -as she continues getting into his bed at night. 

 

She refuses to look at him, and refuses to speak to him. 

When the night falls, she snuggles against him.

 

And that won't do, it just won't.

 

So tonight, he's about to make it extra difficult for her to ignore him. 

He doesn't know exactly how he's going to proceed yet, but it's happening. 

He's gonna take good care of her, she's about to see how good.

 

When the word _strip_ is out of his mouth, for some strange reason, he doesn't doubt a _second_ about her staying and doing as she's told. He just wonders how long it's gonna take her to give in. If she's gonna hesitate for long or not. 

He's fairly unmoved about her inner struggle as she stammers and very obviously blushes when she sees him naked, and he gets into bed with an unfazed expression, just waiting for her to be done believing there's actually a chance she'll leave. He knows it's genuine, but still. 

 

He watches her undress. 

And in less time than it takes to blink, his whole fucking body is on fire.

She won't notice the difference, because she's likely too innocent? or distracted? But he's not gonna rush this. He wants her against him, for as long as possible.

She shouts, embarrassed, when she catches him looking. 

 

_Shout all you want, it's only a matter of time before I make you mewl._

 

She's in the bed the next second.

He's got her. 

 

She tentatively extends her arm toward the dynamo lamp near the bed -to turn it off, he supposes. So cute. 

Not gonna happen. 

 

A bit of logistic, and he really has her under him, opened, lovely, and so ripe she's ready to fall from the tree. 

Her bare chest in plain sight.

 _Finally_. 

 

He takes a moment to breathe in what he's looking at. Make her feel his eyes on her. 

 

...oh he's gonna be so, so sweet to those tits, he's gonna give them the attention they need -see how she reacts to it. 

 

 _Mmh_.

He slowly presses his lips on the supple pink there, releasing a soft, quiet smack that makes her chest flutter. Then another one, and she shudders. He looks at her face. 

 

She likes that. _She likes it a lot_. 

She's flushed, her lips parted, her breathing already heavier, and she arches her back slowly against him to get some more. 

 

It's the most delicious sight. 

 

What happens if he runs his hands there? Feels her full in his palm, brushes, squeezes? Guess he'll have to find out.

She's so soft, and warm, and he just can take his sweet time checking exactly just how much -she takes his slow strokes without a complaint, the sweet girl. 

 

He almost feels sorry for her, she's struggling so hard not to purr.

 

He works her up, loving every second of it, and soon her body's much more expressive, as her attempts to hide or rein in her eagerness aren't exactly conclusive.

She somewhat looks like a rabbit struggling to escape.

Except she's not a rabbit. And she's not trying to escape. 

She's writhing against him, more and more, putting all her cute strength in it under his weight to have the pressure where she wants it.  

 

Sweet thing. No need to be in a rush.

He'll give it to her again, and again, and again -anytime she wants it.

 

He swears he's gonna take care of her until _she's sick of it._

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aUO5OD4wzmw
> 
> It felt natural to catch up on Ben's POV to me in the moment, but don't fall asleep just yet, there's some plot coming. We don't have a lot of chapters left though, maybe three at most.


	10. Hurt pride

 

 

After falling asleep with Solo's head on her chest, she dreams about what he did to her just before. 

In the morning, it's the first thing she thinks about, and now, as it's already past midnight, twenty-four hours after it happened, she's still thinking about it. 

All day, when she doesn't think about what happened the night before, she thinks about what she hopes will happen the next time she'll get into his bed. 

Doing so, she still spends the entire day away from Solo -out of his reach, and out of his sight. 

She wouldn't stand his eyes on her in the light of day. Wouldn't stand him looking at her all the while knowing what he did to her. 

And how much she liked it. 

How it was so painfully obvious that she craved all of it. 

 

Then, when the night is dark, inevitably, she quickly pads to his cabin. 

 

She finds him the light on, lying in bed on his side facing the door, visibly exhausted and eyes fighting to stay open -yet when she's inside those eyes widen slowly at her sight, his jaw tenses unperceptibly, and he shifts to be on his back and look at the ceiling, face closed. 

The lamb is sleeping at his feet.

And when she approaches the bed, Solo doesn't look at her. He's almost taking all the room in the bed. She barely has any to lie down next to him, and she'll have to snuggle against him -not that she's got any problem with it. 

But his cold expression makes her hesitant. 

She confusely feels it has something to do with the fact that she stayed in the station all day yet again to avoid him, but since she doesn't like that idea, she prefers to tell herself she has no way to be sure what it's about. 

She wants to pretend like she has no clue. 

Surely it can't be that important to him that they hang out during daytime; all the times she did ask him things he always looked so bored and uninterested, and he never asked anything in return. 

She picks up Grasshopper delicately to lay her down under the table, on her blanket, where she usually sleeps. The animal doesn't protest too much. 

Her mouth slightly downturned, trying to ignore the pang in her chest the best she can, Rey goes back to the bed to tentatively put down a knee next to Solo. He doesn't react, just stubbornly stares at the ceiling.

She slowly lies down at his side, flushed against him, swallowing silently, her head on his shoulder, not even daring to let the weight of it rest completely on him. The fact that he stays absolutely still doesn't make her feel at ease but at least he doesn't push her away.

She stays this way trying to keep her breathing as silent as possible, acclimating to the situation, her hand barely resting on his belly.

He doesn't move, doesn't acknowledge her more than he already has. 

Still her heart is already beating louder, and his body through their clothes against her chest and her hips calls to the most capricious, impatient and childish parts of her, parts that only her bashfulness allows her to rein in. 

She very experimentally, very hesitantly runs a trembling hand on his chest, holding her breath to be able to catch any kind of reaction. 

She doesn't feel the slightest hiccup from him. She peeks up at him, and sees he's still looking at the ceiling. 

He's not scowling, his expression is rather blank. It doesn't look like he's trying to hurt her feelings, just like he's really hurt himself, which only makes it worse for her -not to mention her feelings _are_ hurt nonetheless. 

 

He has no idea that if she doesn't move then for maybe two full minutes, it's because she's silently gathering all the courage she can find in herself, to push on her arms slowly, and kneel at his side. 

Her uncertain hands reach for the hem of her tank top, and peel it off of her. She tries not to check right away if she got his attention to make sure she doesn't lose her nerve, and sits briefly on the edge of the bed to take off her pants and panties, hurrying to lie back down right against him, her front to his side once more, head on his shoulder. 

But if he took special notice, he's still not looking at her. 

Now she's not looking at his face anymore -she's just doing her thing. She looks at the expanse of his torso, feel its weight in the bed, and she'd whimper if she wasn't actively trying to keep silent.

She needs to feel his skin against hers. 

She tries not to squirm too much pulling little by little his undershirt up his waist, -as if she was trying to do it without him noticing, like there was a chance of that- to feel his bare side pressed to her breasts and her belly; god knows it's not enough though. She huffs, but still doesn't look at him. 

She presses her face, her nose, eyes close, to him, quietly breathing him in, then stills, swallowing silently as she slowly reaches south under the blanket...

Her fingers slide under his waistband very delicately -she's barely letting herself breathe, as her heart threatens to burst on that simple action. She wraps her hand around his cock, feeling her cheeks burn. 

 

...it's not soft. 

She tries looking at him then, heart in her throat. 

And finds him watching her from the corner of his eye. 

She swallows thickly and very awkwardly strokes it once, twice--

 

-it swells and burns in her hand, and at her core--

 

...but she feels his hand gently grabbing her wrist, stopping her effectively. 

Her cheeks burn all over again from the intense shame and hurt she feels from not being wanted in return, when she so plainly just gave him proof of how much she wants him, until she feels him pull her hand up to his mouth, and he licks her palm, wetting it generously with his spit. 

She blinks. 

He brings her hand back where he found it, wrapping his around hers to set a rhythm he likes.

She squirms from disbelief, curiosity and anticipation all at once, and slowly starts to stroke on her own. 

But her patience is so thin, so so thin, and she's so selfish, because she looks up at him and soon starts to give him erratic strokes, pressing her lips together, watching him intently, huffing through her nose, close to whimper, her back arching to rub herself to him, and when she squeezes too tight, he hisses, this time stopping her by grabbing her wrist a bit roughly, his jaw tense.

She looks at him when she hears him sigh and she swears she almost cacthes him rolling his eyes. 

Without warning, he sits up, and takes off his undershirt with a faint grunt. 

She blinks widening her eyes, and she wiggles in excitment as he turns to get on top of her, amazed it worked; she opens her legs wide, eager, watching each of his movements closely as he lets himself down on her---

 

 _Yes_. 

 

Had she knew, she would have started there right away.  

Her chest is heaving as she breathes rapidly through her nose in anticipation, but like the night before she can see he's about to take his time. 

Finally those hands are on her. They run ever so softly on her breasts, press them in the most gentle way, and she lets out a sigh of relief at the touch, cocking her head with her eyes closed not to see the smugness already playing on his face, all the while bringing her own hands next to her head to give him a very clear access, her back arching, feeling so, so hot already under his weight. 

 

A few moments of this and she glances at him to see his eyes have darkened. He's very serious again. Without anymore preamble, he slowly presses inside her. 

A crease on her forehead, she tenses and melts all at once. 

 

 _Ohhh_.... 

 

 _.......that's it._  

 

He gives her slow thrusts, and she looks back at him with drunk eyes, vaguely aware her tongue's sticking out of her open mouth a bit as she pants quietly, her hands gripping his shoulders, feeling his muscles move under his skin. He ducks his head to quite literaly _lap_ at her tits with wet noises, his breath hot on her, and, and--- 

 

She hisses, eyes flying wide open on him.

He stills.

 

_Did he just fucking bite her?_

 

She'd like to believe he didn't do it on purpose, yet she sees him look at her like a dog that knows he's in trouble, and when she doesn't say nor do anything, he very tentatively resumes his slow thrusting, gently -bowing his head back down hesitantly for some more licking, some more kissing, and she relaxes -down into her very bones, letting out soft sighs, her eyes falling shut--

 

He bites her again.

 

« wha-- ! » she croaks feebly, before hitting him on the head.

 

He interrupts his movements once more. She swallows.

His eyes flick up to hers for a second, but he soon looks back down at her breasts, furrowing his brows and his chin inward a bit -working his jaw as if he was refraining from doing it again.

 

She reaches for his hair and pulls on it, teeth gritting, drawing a small _ah_ out of him. 

 

 _Now_ he's a bit shocked.

 

His eyes are round only for a second though, before they slightly narrow, his jaw coming forward a bit, while she barely hears the ghost of a growl rumble its way up his chest.

He very decisively readjusts his position and lets himself weigh down on her, caging her with his torso pressing her down in the mattress, crushing her, his hands on each sides of her head, looking her in the eyes, as he gradually starts thrusting a bit more harshly, a bit more roughly still, and she blinks rapidly, letting out _ohs_ of surprise, before she hiccups, bouncing, squeaking like a mouse while he clenches his jaw keeping the pace -and she holds onto him her feet stupidly bobbing in the air with her toes curled--

"-oh! Oh!--"

 

He pulls out.

 

"---nooo," she whines faintly, instantly getting on her elbows when he pushes on his hands and sits back, openly chuckling at her reaction. 

She scowls, vexed, shameful, her chin inward, discreetly trying to rub her thighs together, but he doesn't pay attention to her frustration at all, and turns her over without too much effort. He's only amused by her hurt pride. 

 

Confusion joins in on her face, pressed against on the pillow, when she feels his hands on her waist holding her down--

\--before something wet and full presses the underside of one of her ass cheek with a loud smack.

He kissed her.

 

Almost the second she feels it all her blood rushes to her head and she twists her torso in an attempt to look at him like he's lost it -all the while immediately feeling that she wants him to do it again. 

 

He clearly looks annoyed that she's undoing his hard work and grabs her arm to slowly put her back in position with a firm hand, holding her down again, before ducking his head back down to her ass, and kiss it affectionately -as if he was kissing her hands.

He squeezes and kneads with both his hands everytime his mouth briefly parts, and his kisses are soon done with an open mouth, as it seems he's almost trying to be as noisy as possible in the silence of the cabin. 

 

A shaky exhale, then she swallows thickly with her cheek against the pillow, her fists closed on the sheet under her, her hips ever so slightly going up and up.

 

When he feels he's full, apparently, he sits back, humming, and swiftly folds her right leg on her side, a hand still pushing down on the middle of her back. She lets out a strangled noise.

 

But then, _ah_ , she feels his head probing at her entrance.

 

And _yeees_ , he pushes back in.

 

Her eyes roll back as she hears a drawn-out _uuuuh_ pass her lips, before his chest comes down on her back, trapping her under his weight again.

 

After the sound she just made she bites her lip to keep silent as he starts with small, gentle thrusts -but she closes her eyes when he bottoms out, arching her back--

 

\---with urgent whispers leaving her lips:

 

" _Yes_ , yeeees, yes-yes-yes-"

 

"Yes?" she hears him growl right at her ear. She can hear the smirk, too. 

 

She bites back the next ones, eyes shut hard, falling silent the best she can, refraining from panting. 

 

But he snaps his hips against her ass roughly to get her back on the right path, and picks up a pace that has her take a big gulp of air as if she was going under water -and soon, a long, drawn-out ragged _yeeeeeees_  comes out of her, ending in a sob.

 

When he reaches for her clit, breathing hard on her cheek, no sound comes out of her mouth -the air gets stuck in her lungs. 

 

There she goes, rigid, her orgasm solidly held down by the weight of his body.

 

This time, he comes on her ass.

 

Once he's cleaned her up, panting, he turns her to face him.

 

She looks at him with dreamy eyes, flushed, limp, but then her stomach tenses a bit when she sees his face. 

He lies back down on her, his face real close to hers, looking straight into her eyes, his breathing slightly shaky: 

"Rey?"

 

She swallows, wide awake now. "Yes?" she croaks. 

 

That's the most serious she's ever seen him. Given how little they talk, she forgets he has a stutter sometimes, but in this moment she's reminded of it, because he works his jaw for a while, before being able to speak. 

 

"Follow my advice," he starts. 

He stops, breathing in slowly, then out slowly. Taking his time. Then finally saying the rest: 

 

"...don't avoid me tomorrow."

 

Rey feels her whole face burn. She doesn't dare breathing. Certainly, she doesn't dare saying anything either. 

And he sees that, and his lips are set into a thin line, before he adds: 

 

"Don't ignore me." 

 

Although it could be perceived as a sort of threat, it isn't -his tone clearly is one he would take to plainly inform her of a danger ahead.

A danger to her and to him. 

 

...she's fucking busted, because now that it's been said aloud, denying the effect her behavior has on him isn't possible anymore. 

She shudders when he holds her tight, really tight, as if to emphasize the trust he just put in her. The faith he has, that she can grow.

 

But maybe, just _maybe_ , she's a fucking idiot. He might not have considered that.

 

Because the next day, she doesn't get out of her cabin. 

 

Not even once.  

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IwvtAJG0mBo
> 
> "Bereft, as daisies lie  
> For our love was not lost in style  
> You were strong, I was a child
> 
> We, we're not kings here  
> We're not kings here  
> We're just strangers"


	11. A good thing

 

She's a Guard.

 

She remembers the first time she learns she's meant to become one. A boy her age explains it to her when she's about to turn seven - he explains to her what they're _all_ destined to become, all the children in her Birth Camp.

 

How he knows that, at such a young age, how he's aware of their fate already, is something she'll never finds out. But she supposes the information has to be hammered into their skull very early on for them to accept it so well once they turns twenty. 

 

"All children born without parents become Guards."

 

His words exactly. Coming out of a smug face. At the time, to hide the hurt, she wants to yell at him that to be born, children _have_ to have parents. 

But she knows damn well what he means. 

All children who aren't wanted by their parents -abandoned, mistreated, children whose parents are dead, executed, like one of her guardians told her her own had been, before she could form memories of them - _orphans_  are raised and fed by the regime to systematically become the future Guards of the nation.

They're meant to become Guards, and -later on in life- to probably succomb to their suicidal urges.

 

"What is a Guard?" She mutters to the boy. 

 

"A Guard is someone who kills Flying Fishes," he says, satisfied that she's showing interest.

 

_Flying fishes_ sound like nasty words, even to her young ears -and even as a child, she prefers to use the word _irregular_  to designate people who get arrested because they don't submit to the regime's control.

 

The only thing that makes little Rey wrinkle her nose more, is the designation of _Guard_. 

She doesn't want to be a Guard. 

But what she wants really doesn't matter. She learns that very soon too.

 

At her Birth Camp, nobody cares what she wants, nobody pays attention to her, nobody even pretends to confort her all the times her lower lip trembles.

And everytime she's in any kind of need, or when she begs for the smallest affection, or even a vague interest from someone, willing to trade in exchange all the love she can find in herself with people who don't deserve it, she's pushed away so hard, shoved away by those very individuals whose attention and company she's desperate for -whether they're children, newcomers or kids older than her, or whether they're Guardians, the adults in charge of running the Birth Camp.

 

Being forced to drown her own pet rat in front of the other kids, by a Guardian -a guardian she was growing fond of for no good reason at all-, teaches her very early on not to expect anything good from people.

 

And that when people _are_ good to her: to expect that they won't be.

They'll leave. They'll die. They'll hurt her.

 

That's what she thinks about, the whole day she spends confined in her cabin, suffocating in the heat, lying down on her bed and in her sweat.

Zue's body swinging over her head.

She thinks back on her young life at camp.  

 

And when she doesn't, she wonders what Solo's up to. 

She imagines him playing with the lamb. Reading. Walking in the forest.

 

And she thinks at length about the night before. 

 

The guilt of doing exactly _what he asked her not to do,_ is immense, but the fear of facing him is stronger. 

Worst, the fear of how cold she anticipates he will be, when she finally comes out to see him tonight, almost breaks her.

 

Still she stays hidden. 

All day.

 

She sees the light of day dimming outside through the few craks of her wooden walls. Soon, she's already a bit cold.

 

She gets out of her cabin finally, when the night is dark. The cool air makes her tense her shoulders.

...it might not just be the cool air.

 

Even from afar, she can see some light coming from inside his cabin.

There's only the noise of her bare feet cautiously finding they way in the white dirt.

 

Walking all the way there seems like the most difficult thing to do -she has to remember how to walk. Ironically, she can't, won't wait until it's indecently late to go there, like she usually does - _but_ , her steps are the most hesitant they've ever been. 

 

Although there's a fair distance, it's not _that_ far -yet the walk there takes her forever, or at least it seems, because the whole time the knots of her stomach tighten, as her brain produces terrifying scenarios at the speed of light. 

 

She's afraid that he'll yell at her, that he'll ignore her, of course; she wonders if he'll stutter, and against her own common sense, she fears that he' will hit her. 

Irrationally she wonders if there's a chance that he'll act like nothing happened. More subtle possibilities make their way to the forefront of her mind, as she imagines him lying in his bed, but not touching her, staying on his side -not holding her. 

But also, if he's mad, hurt, resentful, cold: how long will he be? It's hard to estimate --and a terror deep inside her that he'll just might grow colder and colder as days pass deafens her, turns the sounds of her own heart into white noise. 

 

She doesn't hear anything from inside his cabin as she gets close. Is she going to find he's not here, like last night?

 

As she faces the door, holding her breath without realizing it, her heart thundering in her chest, she considers another possibility, a more evident one. She doesn't know why she hasn't considered it before. 

 

She reaches for the door handle, pushes it down to actuate it. 

 

She closes her eyes, her hypothesis coming true.

 

The door's locked.

 

Her hand very slowly lets go. Her exhale is quiet but shaky.

Everything goes mute. 

 

She looks at the door handle. Her lips press together to keep from trembling, the air stuck in her lungs. 

Even as her vision gets blurry and she bows her head silently, she has the boldness to dare a pitiful shrug, as if she could fool anyone, as if there was a chance she could hide to herself how sick she is over this. 

 

Well.

 

She got the message. 

 

She has to go, and _quick_.

 

She doesn't want him to hear her sobbing.

 

On her way back, trying to swallow down the hot tears rolling silently on the bridge of her nose as she keeps her head down, for a split second, she actually tries to convince herself that it's a good thing.

 

She forgot, but she's not supposed to expect anything from him, and maybe it'll keep her from hurting when he eventually gets tired of her, tired for good ---if he isn't already, but she shoves that idea away.

And maybe she can get tired of him first? 

 

But all those wishful attempts at denying how crushed she is to be spending her first night alone in weeks get swept effortlessly as she lies in her own bed, in the dark. Alone with herself, she can't pretend she's not desperately willing the sun to come up faster, so she can finally see his face again -even if he doesn't look her way. 

And so it takes maybe less than an hour for her to change her tune completely. 

A loop of thoughts sets off and she can't stop it: she's learned her lesson, she's gonna be good, even if it hurts, even if it scares her, _she's learned her lesson good_ , and she won't do it again. 

_She won't do it again, she won't do it again, shewontdoitagain_  -she needs him to hear this. 

 

She misses him. 

More than twenty-four hours spent without him is an indecent amount of time -she's discovering that.

 

Eventually, she settles somewhat, with puffy eyes, simply waiting for the early hours of the day. 

 

She gets out of her cabin as the sun's barely peeking above the horizon. 

 

At first, she stays away, just watching from a distance to see if he'll get out, even though she _knows_ he never leaves that early. She's had enough occasions to see him come and go, now, to recognize moments of the day as significant regarding his movements.  

 

The truth is she can hardly wait. She's numb, and she can't think straight. Her thoughts went round and round all night and she has no sense of what's more likely to happen next anymore. She's short on imagination and on any kind of energy, aside from the energy of despair, the one that's keeping her up right now despite the fact that she hasn't slept a second. 

 

Eventually though, she gets up from where she's sitting on the ground near her cabin, and walks in direction of his own cabin, exhaustion rendering her face expressionless -her feet dragging slightly in the dirt.

She hasn't even changed clothes. 

 

She feels a dim pain forming in her chest as she gets closer, the dread to finally find out how he feels about her slowly but surely blooming , and when she arrives there, she listens closely. 

 

She doesn't hear even the smallest sound from inside, so she sits her back against the wall of his cabin, near the door. 

And waits.

 

...she doesn't know why it takes her that long to notice it. 

 

There are plenty of reasons, actually.

She's tired. Her brain isn't at its best at all. She's focused, trying to make sure she won't miss the ruffling of his sheets when he'll stretch, the creak of his bed when he'll get up. She's a bit blinded by the orange light of the sun that's still very low in the sky. 

It casts her eyes down.

 

At first, she doesn't even realize she's staring at it, because she's lost in her thoughts, her confusing and very incoherent thoughts.

 

She doesn't realize she's staring down at it. An empty spot on the ground near the door.  

 

She's looking at the dirt, and her own nails graze that dirt near her leg.

 

...she doesn't realize she's staring at it. 

 

But when she does understand what she's looking at, the conclusion she must draw from what she's seeing makes a slow, very, very slow progression in her brain. 

 

She frowns and blinks. 

Her whole body turns into stone.

The sudden pounding of her heart cuts off her breathing. 

 

This, is the spot where he always places his boots. 

 

She's seen him time and time again put them on, and put them off. 

All the way from the station, when she didn't even dare to approach him, the very first days.

 

And she can look at that spot all she wants, will the boots to be there, only the dirt stares back at her. 

 

The boots aren't there. And it doesn't make _any sense_ that they're not there. 

 

Because he's never, never, _nevernevernevernever_ left to take a stroll in the forest early in the morning --and certainly not  _in the middle of the fucking night_.

She tries to focus on her breathing as she forces the reality to take shape in her mind.

 

He left. 

 

Solo left.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LIZexZf-ZsA


	12. Anything that isn't a tree, or a river

 

Rey isn't a patient person. 

She's not responsible, and she's not pragmatic. 

Under the regime's tutelage, she's never had to make any decision for herself. Ever. 

 

All she knows how to do, is follow whoever leads her, and "let it happen".

She's never been driven by any fire of any sort, that would have made her bold in the face of her fate, as an orphan or now as a Guard. All her life, all she's ever done, is accept what happens to her. 

She just takes it. Again. And again. And again. 

Yet, it hasn't made her resilient. Not at all. 

 

And _this_ , feels like the last straw.

 

He left. 

_He left, he left, heleftheleftheleft---_

 

She wills the idea to make sense. She's imagined it so many times, she imagined him leaving just the way he arrived: out of nowhere, for no reason, and from one day to the next; she's imagined it perfectly, yet, when it happens, a fresh burn seizes her lungs as if she had never considered it before, not even once.

 

But of course, almost as soon as she truly understands he left, denial takes over. She just doesn't want to believe it. 

 

Feeling her heart beat furiously against her ribs she bangs on his door, erraticly at first then so hard she's hurting her knuckles badly, but she can't breathe, so of course she doesn't pay attention to that. 

 

The first time she calls his name, the words could barely be heard if he were there, because she doesn't find the air in her lungs to get them out. Her first _Solo? Solo?_ are almost silent as she knocks. 

 

A few seconds later though, as reality dawns on her _again_ , as she's confirmed over and over that he left, first because she didn't find the boots near his cabin, and now because, naturally, nobody answers the door, she's screaming his name.

"Solo?? _Solo!_ "

 

Eventually she takes a few steps back, sobbing, and turns on herself, looking everywhere, as if she could spot him, but all she sees is the station, the road, the greenhouses, and the three small cabins built for the Guards.

 

\--and the forest.

 

She's wincing, shaking, drowning in tears, trying to swallow them down.

 

...if only she was more calm, less annoying, more loving, if she was knowledgeable, if she smiled more, _he never would have fucking left!_

 

Where did he go, what direction? What's around here? She doesn't even know!

She's never been in the forest, she never took the road herself, she doesn't know where it leads!

 

All she has -the only, small, insignificant information she has about the world outside her field of view, is the cabin Zue talked about once, with a slack mouth and her eyes lost -the cabin in the forest, that used to be occupied by Guards a long time ago.

 

But even that she just vaguely remembers Zue telling her it's situated north, near a river, and _she wouldn't know where to start_ -not to mention that she'd have to count on the fact that Solo went there in the first place -and why would he go there, rather than anywhere else?

 

_Why there, rather than literaly anywhere else, anywhere in that fucking country?_

 

Does this cabin even fucking exist, still?

 

She barely knows where's north and south, thanks to Zue again, who told her the sun rose in the east.

 

She runs to the front of the station on weak legs. She's breathing hard, willing the sobs to stop.

 

There, she has a better view of the forest. 

Not that it's of any use to the situation, but somehow it helps her think. 

 

The sky's still pink from the sun not quite done rising. The dark, almost black trees edging the white landscape, far in front of her, look back at her silently.

She inhales deeply, blinking at them, trying to regain control on her breathing despite the panic in her chest.  

Cool air fill her lungs.

 

...soon, it's not a question of what's the best to do, or if there's actually hope she'll find him, or where he might have gone. 

It's about what her options are. 

 

She won't find him. Already, she knows she won't.

She's hardly been that certain about anything in her life. She knows too little, about the world, about life, and most of all about him, to even have the slightest chance. She has no fucking clue.

 

But if she stays here, she'll die.

 

She'll hang herself like Zue. She'll stop eating and lie down. She'll wait a year, two years, three years, before doing so maybe -it doesn't matter how or when. 

 

The heartbreak will kill her.

 

She has to wipe her eyes constantly to have a clear vision, as new tears fill them up the second she sheds the previous ones. 

 

She's scared shitless, she's never been that scared before, of anything, and that's certainly saying something.

 

But she's moving.

 

She goes to her cabin, enters, and puts on her blue coveralls. 

 

Doing so, she realizes something that _should_ be of some importance. Given how cursed she is, her superiors could choose today to pass by the station, or colleagues could finally be sent her way, and she doesn't know what would happen to her if they were not to find her at the station; what she could say in that situation to justify her absence. 

But that realization is far from slowing her down, or making her second-guess her decision. 

She only finds she doesn't care enough. 

 

She takes her V-k8, some water, and that's actually it. 

She doesn't know what will happen there; she doesn't know if, whatever happens, she'll decide to stay there or to come back; she just confusely feels she won't need food. Or rather, maybe it all boils down to the fact that, once again, she doesn't care enough. 

 

She just needs to leave. 

 

Her eyes on the trees in the distance, she starts walking toward them, her cheeks still hot from crying not ten minutes before. 

 

As she does, she tries to bury deep, so, so deep inside her something else that she knows to be a fact, and that would easily stop her from going, from trying anything, if she wasn't such an expert in denying the truth. 

If she were to find him; if she were to be so lucky she'd have to believe God himself guided her to him; if not only she wouldn't get lost, but she would catch up to him--

\-- _the fact is that he left for a reason_.

 

But it's this, or doing nothing. 

 

So she walks.

 

She never had the experience of walking in a forest before. At least now she knows she'll die having done so.

 

The quiet here, is of another nature than at the station. It's full. Alive. 

 

Everything's still, yet the graceful forms of the plants and trees as they aim at each other and at the sky, makes it look like they're moving. Everything has a role, a purpose, a place, -everything is at peace. 

 

Walking so hesitantly, stumbling sometimes, with such tired eyes, in her blue coveralls, looking left and right at every steps, she's the very obvious intruder in this scenery. 

 

It's humid, here. The heat doesn't crush her down like at the station. 

 

She finds the river quite early on, given the fact that she has no clue what she's doing. She hears it way before she sees it. The current is fairly strong, and it fills the silence generously, and she likes it. 

She stops a moment to look at it, seeing one for the first time. 

 

At this point, she already doesn't know anymore if she's walking south or north, or west or east. The sun is high in the sky, so it's not of any help, and she has no idea if she deviated from her trajectory. Still she desperately looks up as if she could find some answer up there. 

 

Eventually, she settles for just following the river. 

She just chooses a direction arbitrarily.

It's not as if she could exactly worsen the situation. 

 

Every two minutes, she imagines finding him. She pictures him. 

 

Would he be his feet in the river? Wearing his undershirt and pants?

Would he be walking with grasshopper at his feet, or in his arms?

 

Seeing her, would he freeze? Snarl? Run?

Would he have the same duffle bag she sometimes saw him with?

 

A weak hope comes alive in her. 

What if he only left for a bit, then returned at the station _today_?

Her heart skips a beat at the idea, and she just wishes she could forget the actual hard truth that, last night, he locked his door. 

Thinking he'll come back isn't logical at all, but she so desperately needs to hold onto some kind of hope. 

 

She starts considering the possibility she'll have to walk a long time to find anything. Not Solo, or a cabin: anything. 

Anything that isn't a tree or a river. 

 

That she'll likely get lost. And that she just might walk and walk until she can't walk anymore. 

 

Still her thoughts are mainly about him; about his mouth, his hold, his voice. New tears silently roll down her face at some point, but she doesn't stop walking. 

 

It might be because she thinks about him in that way, and that she isn't attentive to what's surrounding her -but also, it might be because its brown merges with the trunks that are hiding it; in any case, chills shake her whole body when she understands she was about to go past it without noticing it: 

 

\--a cabin.

There, behind the trees, on the other side of the river. Almost completely hidden.

 

She runs.

 

Which is just _so very stupid_ , because she damn well knows it's not a guarantee she'll find him at all. 

 

Yet she runs to it. 

 

She crosses the river, soaking her coveralls up to her thighs, close to fall several times in the process. Thank God the river's not too deep, nor too large. 

She almost trips several times because of her wet shoes on her way there once she's out of the water. 

 

But eventually, she finally has it in front of her. 

 

It's not near as large as she imagined it. 

Zue talked about a cabin that several Guards have occupied. 

 

And it's barely larger than her own cabin. 

 

She knew it wasn't worth getting all worked up, she knew it very well, but after several hours already just spent walking relentlessly through the trees without finding anything, her reaction was only natural -and now, her shoulders drop slowly as she faces the cabin, catching her breath. 

 

It hurts, it hurts so freshly all over again. 

Because she has the proof now. 

 

The proof that once again, he's not here. 

 

In silence, arms at her sides, lips pressed tight and eyes watering, she looks for clues, for anything that might indicate he's here, or was here at some point. 

The current of the river is fainter at this distance.

There are no boots near the door. No laundry drying on a wire. She gets closer to the window, looking inside, or trying to, before discovering the door's open.

All is covered in dust inside.

There's no signs of life. No dynamo lamp, no books.

  

Her lips tremble as she inhales a shaky breath, and she shuts her eyes hard.

She understands in that moment that every time she'll find out yet again that he isn't where she hoped he would be, she'll go through the pain all over again. 

She braces herself against the wall of the cabin to try and breathe more evenly, swallowing the pain down. 

 

And when she turns, she freezes.

 

Looking up at her a few feet away, is Grasshopper. 

 

Rey holds her breath.

 

She'd recognize her anywhere. 

 

As if to confirm, the lamb baas at her, quite energetically, although staying where she is. 

It would make Rey smile so much, so much, if her heart hadn't stopped.

 

...sure enough, Solo is standing a few feet behind. 

 

His bag is at his feet, and he looks at her, as if he was waiting for her reaction. 

She hopes she's wrong, but his expression is really, really close to one of indifference. 

His face is the coldest she's ever seen it. 

 

Her hands are shaking. 

 

Before she knows it, she points her V-k8 at him with both hands. 

 

He flinches, then slowly tightens his fists at his sides, his jaw visibly clenching. 

His eyes darken. 

 

As if she was the one held at gunpoint, Grasshopper stumbles to the side. 

 

Meanwhile, Rey has to blink furiously to chase the tears away, her face becoming hot, her hands still shaking holding the gun, and she tries to breathe somewhat normally as she slowly steps closer to him. 

She doesn't dare to get too close, though, just enough so he can hear her. 

 

"Walk. To the station", she says with a ragged, shaky voice, gritting her teeth, her cheeks wet. 

 

That's hardly a plan. 

But she hasn't actually thought for single second about what she would do if she were to find him, given that she was so certain not to. Now that she actually _has_ found him, her whole world and reason narrow down to how _urgent_ it is for her that they return together to their life at the station. 

But she couldn't possibly expect another answer than the one he gives her, quite calmly despite the resent she's sure she's reading all over his face right now. 

 

"No."

 

...still it hurts. It hurts so badly. She barely can breathe. 

She winces. 

"On your knees," she spits. 

  

He looks down, working his jaw for a few seconds -and unexpectedly, slowly goes down on his knees. 

 

She's spiraling down inside, as she can't dodge the reality of his disinterest now. There's no more room for any "what if" anymore.

But she's such a desperate thing.

"If you don't start walking soon, I won't hesitate, I'll blow your brains out," she threatens with a strangled voice.

 

He's impassive, looking somewhere at the ground. 

"... walk or kneel?" he asks, with what must be intended as a nonchalant tone.

 

That sarcasm, more than anything in that moment, makes the pain ten times worse.

She steps closer breathing heavily through gritted teeth. 

Then presses the gun to his forehead, just between his eyes. As she does, she expects a reaction other than indifference. 

And she almost gets it, because he winces a bit, his breathing through his nose getting slightly louder.

 

But then, he slowly, very slowly reaches for the gun. 

 

Whether it's that she's exhausted, or that he's doing something she couldn't possibly expect, she looks at him do, frowning, but still holding the gun firmly, confused.

 

He closes his hand on the barrel carefully, cautious not to make any sudden movement...

 

... then brings the muzzle of the V-k8 to his right eye, aligning them while closing his other eye, as if to look what's inside.

 

Mocking her once again.

 

She abruptely pulls the gun out of his hold and away from his face, mouth agape. 

That scared her as much as it hurt her. 

 

He looks up at her in defiance, still on his knees.

 

"You think you're so fucking funny, don't you?" she finally whispers, her lips trembling with a vengeance, her voice wavering.

 

"Yes," he spits right back, showing his teeth.

 

She can't speak again right away then, because her throat tightens way too much, and she barely can see through the tears. Still, she does see that his eyes don't lower. He's looking right at her. 

 

"Is this a victory to you?" she manages to get out, her voice wet, her face contorted with pain as she tries to keep from crying freely in front of him.

 

" _It is_ ," he answers without an ounce of hesitation.

 

She lets it pierce through her. 

The confirmation of everything she's feared.

 

If there's the slightest sympathy on his face right now, a small rest in him of mild interest for what she's obviously going through, she wouldn't be able to detect it. 

 

She eventually sees him lower his gaze, swallowing. 

Before he slowly gets up, walks to his bag, picks it up wordlessly. 

 

And walks up the cabin, getting inside.

 

Like nothing important happened. 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-Vak2kgjpZA
> 
> "I can't touch you anymore  
> I can't tell you how I feel, as I fall  
> You would walk.  
> Heavy hearts do bury words  
> Under promises and "anything you wants," you'll have
> 
> I can't touch you anymore  
> I can't tell you how I feel, as I fall  
> You would walk
> 
> Tame your thoughts and let me in  
> Break your callous ways and press me to your skin  
> Save a rose
> 
> I'd quell your thoughts and let you in  
> Break your savage ways and press you to my skin  
> Save a rose"


	13. Life goes on

 

 

He gets out, and takes off his boots. 

 

Then he places them outside, near the door. 

 

Doesn't make much sense, because he doesn't stay inside. He walks around in the dirt and in the grass, barefoot. Taking out of his bag a very small hammer, two nails and his wire. 

Then proceeding to get on the modest installation on the side of the cabin. It'll be where he'll hang his clothes to dry, everytime he washes them. 

 

He's definitely staying. 

 

While doing so, he doesn't spare her a single glance. Grasshopper is just grazing what she can. 

 

And Rey is just standing there. 

Getting hit by the harshness of the scene. 

 

Like an utter idiot. 

 

She waits for him to aknowledge her in some small way, but it doesn't happen. 

Why would he. 

 

He knows she's a Guard, and that she shouldn't be here -still he shows all the signs of someone who firmly intends to stay here. He left, not caring one second that she'd find him. He must know that if she did, it truly was out of pure luck. 

And when she did find him, there were no trace of joy, regret, or relief on his face. 

 

Only pure disinterest and indifference -before his features took the shape of irritation and anger instead. 

 

In fact, he's so far from everything she once believed he was: a caring, protective, patient man, that her memories of him kissing her, holding her, don't make sense in the face of that man going about his business -not paying any kind of attention to her in any way.

 

But she must believe he still is all those things, though. 

Why else would she be stupidly looking at him, waiting for him to break character and reveal it was all a joke? 

A bad, bad joke. 

 

She looks at his legs. They're drenched, like hers. From above the knees down. 

 

He must have crossed the river too before her, and when he saw her, before she saw him, he didn't hide. 

He's not trying to get away, nor close to her.

 

He just truly doesn't give any fuck. 

 

She's numb inside out now. She felt too much, in a too short period of time. Eveything sounds distant. 

As if upon the painful revelation that her connection to him wasn't real, she could only feel detached from eveything else.

 

When she turns, very slowly, and _walks away_ , staggering at times from life having become way too intense for her, feeling out of it, empty inside, she would like for nothing more than to believe she does so accepting fully what's happening. 

 

The distance grows between them as she walks between the trees, her eyes down to place her feet carefully, and yet again, what she can only pay attention to, is whether she'll hear heavier steps following her.

 

Whether she'll hear his voice calling her name.

 

Feel a hand stop her by the shoulder. 

 

But none of that happens. 

 

She doesn't need to turn and check, to know that he's not behind her.

 

A good deal of feet away from him, once he's no bigger than a finger in the distance, she stops to turn anyway.

 

He's moving left and right, peacefully busy. 

 

He probably hasn't noticed in what direction she left, and he certainly has no clue she's watching him. 

 

Because she's a sad, pathetic little girl, she strides over a trunk that fell on the feet of the other trees standing, and drops on her knees behind it, hidden from his view -not that he looks her way even once. 

 

Because she can't even leave.

She can't do anything to save herself.

 

She's never been that tired, yet she can't tear her eyes away from him. 

She thinks about all kinds of things. About her life before him, about Zue.

 

She silently cries until she can't feel her face, her eyes so puffy it hurts to keep them open, but she wants to keep them open.

To watch him through wet eyelashes as she draws random patterns in the dirt with her nails, digging absentmindedly.

 

He stays outside. Reads. Opens a can and eats. 

Watches the lamb jump and run. Reads some more. 

 

Birds chirp. The river flows. The sun shines.

_Life goes on._

 

There's nothing left for her. She can't go on, she can't go back.

 

All that's left for her to do now, is to lower herself to the ground and remain there. So she decides that's her next move. Until whatever must happen happens, or nothing happens. 

Doesn't matter anymore.

 

Sitting there behind the trunk, she feels herself dozing off numerous times. She fights against it. 

Somewhere deep down lies the irrational fear that he might disappear when she'll wake up, so she wants to look at him the most she can before she inevitably succombs and falls asleep-an  _irrational fear_ , not because he  _won't_  disappear, but because what's the use of fearing that, if he doesn't want her?

 

She fights against it, but when the night barely starts to fall, the sky just a little bit less luminous, her eyelids are the heaviest they've ever been. 

The humidity of the evening falls on her shoulders, and she lies down to curl into a ball, her temple against the wet dirt and grass. 

 

Her slumber lands on her abruptely, from one second to the next.

 

When she wakes up, the night sky is dark blue, but she can see the darker, almost black forms of the trees reaching for it. She's very cold. 

She hasn't slept nearly enough time to feel rested -she might even have slept just a couple of hours, given how quick the sky darkens . 

But she woke up anyway. 

 

...because her head's rocking slightly against Solo's shoulder, everytime he takes a step.

 

He's holding her tight against him, an arm slid under her knees, the other around her back.

He's very slow, because it's dark, naturally, but also, the ground might be somewhat slippery because of the humidity. 

So he's being extra cautious. She turns an eye to the cabin in the distance. A faint orange light in the dark blue comes from behind the window, certainly the dynamo lamp that he left on. 

She notices all of those things, before anything else, because for a full minute she's waking up still, emerging from what was a deep, deep slumber. That's the time it takes, for her to truly understand what's happening. 

 

And to remember all at once everything that happened before she fell asleep. Where she is. 

 

When she does remember, her soft and slacked limbs stiffen in Solo's hold. If he notices, it doesn't show it, focused on his progress.

She stops breathing, not daring to move an inch, trying to make sense of what's happening, her eyes wide open now in the dark. 

Her feet are rocking to the rhythm of his walking and breathing. He's otherwise entirely silent. 

 

She can barely make out some of his traits.

 

As they approach the cabin, she soon can, and she doesn't look away, her jaw tight, all her body tense.

 

He on the other hand, doesn't even glance at her.

 

If there's anything going on in his mind, if his heart is half as agitated as hers is, he hides it pretty well, his expression more or less neutral.

 

He pushes the door with his shoulder and they enter the cabin, and her eyes are still locked on his face to catch anything that might indicate to her the meaning of that sudden change. She can't say what's up or down anymore.

 

And he's still avoiding her gaze, as he very gently lays her down on the bed. That's all that's in this room: just one bed, with a mattress and no blanket, at the back of the cabin -and a manual stove and a table.

 

She can see now that he's already in his undershirt and pants. He takes off his boots.

 

The way he laid her down, is the way she remains -on her back, stiff, not moving. Her hands rested on her belly. 

Her eyes get blurry again before she can feel it coming, but she makes absolutely no noise, her lips pressed tight still and her breathing somewhat under control as she observes him, following his movements.

 

The lamp is just on her left, casting a bright light on her face. He placed it on a chair that's serving now as a nightstand. 

Her eyes follow his face only, so she doesn't pay attention to what he's doing exactly. 

 

She soon can only pay attention to that, because he comes back to her and sits beside her, making the mattress sink a bit under his weight. 

Still not looking at her face, he delicately but efficiently pulls her zipper all the way down to her waist, his face expressionless.

As if he had a serious task to do, and he meant to do it well. 

 

Underneath, she's only wearing her white tank top and a pair of underwear. So she's colder for it. 

That's not the only reason she tenses more. She's not moved, just more and more confused. And confusion makes her slowly scowl, as silent tears keep on quietly rolling from the corners of her eyes to her temples, and she struggles swallowing, her throat tightening. 

He ignores all of that, and pulls on one sleeve, pushing her hand inside it to have her remove it -ultimately to take the coverall off her. He does the same with her other arms, and she looks at him do, opposing no resistance but scanning his face for answers, as it becomes less and less easy for her to breathe. 

 

Grasshopper's oblivious to what's going on, peacefully sleeping in the corner. 

Once he's done with her arms, he stands up, go to the end of the bed, and patiently unties her shoes, taking them off one after the other. 

Her boots thud on the wooden floor. 

He takes off her socks, still wet somehow from when she crossed the river. Her feet are red and ice cold. 

 

She shivers, her mouth downturned, trying her best not to let resent for his pretend impassivity press more tears out of her. Yet, more tears do roll from her eyes. She doesn't even know how that's possible. She feels like she hasn't stopped crying since she found his door locked, some twenty-four hours earlier. 

He pulls on her pant legs, fairly energetically, to take off the whole coverall, that he then throws on the table.

She didn't pay attention to the blanket folded on his bag. 

He takes it, covers her with it up to her ribs. 

 

The more she ignores her tears, the more contorted her face becomes, the more difficult it is for her to breathe. The more tears she sheds. She's desperate to keep silent. 

She can't bare the idea of having to talk first, but it looks like she'll have to, and she hates him for it. 

He -still wordlessly- goes to pick up a small pot in aluminium from the stove. 

She winces at the idea of food, her stomach turned inside out by her turmoil. But it's not food. 

 

It's water. 

He fishes out of it a soaked washing mitt. Then takes her right hand. 

Her nails and fingers are covered in dirt. 

Patiently, he very thoroughly cleans her hand, gently, seemingly only focused on what he's doing and nothing else.

The water is warm, so pleasantly warm on her cold skin. 

But she only tenses at the situation. 

And he continues to pretend like he doesn't notice. 

Once her first hand is done, he takes care of the second. 

Then he rinces the washing mitt good, wrings it good, and slowly brings it to her face. 

 

This time, his eyes meet hers as he passes the wet mitt on a cheek, then the other, her forehead-- pinching her nose gently, then passing it over her blinking eyes. 

Cleaning the salt of her tears off her face. 

He barely can hold her gaze.

 

\--and this time, she can't keep a loud sob to finally make it out of her chest, shaken, as she shuts her eyes hard, bringing her hands up to her face to hide it. 

 

From behind her hands, she manages to articulate with a strangled voice:

 

"---You left!"

 

Letting the accusation drop out in the open -along with everything she feels about it.

 

...saying it out loud makes it so much more painful.

 

She lowers her hands to look at him then, still on her back, through a blurred vision, but he's looking down, his head low in what's starting to look like true shame.

 

Which is why she doesn't expect what he says next -at all. 

 

"No."

 

She keeps a breath in for a second. Then sits up, confused, wiping the tears off her eyes with the back of her hands, sniffling loudly. She must have misheard him, or he must have misunderstood her.

 

"You -- _you left me,_ " she tries again, her voice too whiny for her taste, but her throat is so tight she can hardly speak. 

 

He repeats it. Looking straight at her.

 

"--no."

 

She blinks.

That he refuses to acknowledge what he did only fuels her anger. She doesn't have any strength left, so it only comes out once again as a pained whine. 

"Admit it! Admit that you did!"

 

Why would he try to lie so blatantly to her? When he's not even that confident about it? Is it that he means he was supposed to come back?

 

"I didn't," he insists with an apparent calm. His head is still low. He looks down for a moment. 

Before she has a chance to speak again, he finally explains himself to her. Letting the words fall out of his mouth. 

 

"I followed you."

 

He looks at her again then. 

And she's looking back, dumbstruck, mouth slack, breathing heavily.

 

She can't have heard that right. 

 

She doesn't have to wonder for long if she has -he goes on, alternating his words with controlled and silent inhales and exhales.

 

"--- _I was behind you_ \--

 

The whole time.

 

...you brought me here."

 

...he can't sustain the look her wide eyes give him, so he lowers his gaze once more. 

And  _she_ , can't process the information, perfectly silent and still. She can't believe what she just heard.

 

She can't believe it, won't believe it, yet the plain guilt she can clearly see on his face now confirms it for good.

 

She can't say how long they stay like this.

 

Him looking down. Waiting in silence for a reaction of some kind, maybe. Working his jaw in apprehension.

 

Her looking at him, her mouth slightly agape, trying to make sense of what he just told her.

 

Replaying every moment of the past hours in her head.

 

When she knocked on his door, when she dressed; when she left, when she stopped by the river; when she spotted the cabin; the hours she spent walking. 

 

Not stopping to turn around, not stopping to look back. 

 

Not even once.

 

When she fully grasps what this means -that he simply, plainly, _knowingly_ let her believe he was gone- she feels her lungs  _burn_.  

 

She lets out a shaky exhale she hoped would calm her down, but instead, it only brings her fury forth. 

 

_That's a bad time for him to finally do something._

...she watches, as his tentative hand reaches for hers.

 

She doesn't even try to be mean, she doesn't have to force it -it comes straight from her heart.

She bats that hand away  _furiously,_  with all her strength, hitting it away from her, suddenly breathing much harder through clenched teeth. 

 

She stares at him with mad eyes, and he still can't look at her. 

 

New tears pour out of her. 

 

She does all she can to regain control on her breathing, looking somewhere else than his face not to yell at him, not to hit him some more. 

 

But then, he triggers it the second he swallows silently, hesitantly pulling on the blanket--

 

\---to lie down in bed next to her, looks like it.

 

Because they're back at their routine, now, according to him. 

 

She can't fucking believe her eyes. 

 

" _NO !!_ " she screams at him ----a real scream, that shatters the fucking night, a few inches only from his face, and he shuts his eyes when she does, shameful, letting it happen, breathing heavy through his nose.

 

Grasshopper got up, visibly scared shitless, confused.

 

Rey screams, a throaty sound, in between two loud whines -she struggles to breathe enough to go on, but she manages.

"--- _YOU SLEEP ON THE FLOOR !!!_ "

 

She doesn't recognize her own voice. She put all the anger she's ever felt in her entire life.

 

And he felt it. He felt it good, she can tell. 

 

Still, she's trying so hard to show a mean face, but she  _knows_  she must only come off as hurt, crouching the way she does on the bed, cheeks wet, chest heaving uncontrollably. 

 

And before he can say or do anything, her face wincing, ugly, she reaches for the dynamo lamp and turns it off.

 

The whole cabin goes dark. 

She lies back down. Utterly upset.

 

Only the sobs she tries to muffle in the blanket break the silence. 

Along with a few soft grunts from the lamb.

 

As her eyes get used to the dark, through her tears, she can make out his form between her and the window. 

He's not moving. 

 

But eventually, slowly, she sees him kneel on the ground next to the bed without a word.

 

It looks like he turns his head to look at her. Then he finally lowers himself down, disappearing from her view. 

 

She hears him shifting against the wooden floor for a moment, then the room is silent again, apart from her sniffling. 

 

She doesn't have to wait long, to feel the aftermath of her outburst. 

It doesn't make her feel better. Not at all. 

 

She shuts her eyes hard, her face in pain from crying all day. She can't stand it anymore. 

 

New sobs shakes her. Somehow her body apparently has the strength. 

 

She wishes she could cry in silence, if only for how shameful she is to be so openly crying over him. 

But in the end, now, she must not really care. 

All she cares about is that eventually, it'd stop. 

 

Trying not to be too sick over the fact that to have it stop for sure, the best way to proceed would be to touch him. 

To have him against her -to hold him, -to breathe him. 

 

She's her face half buried in the mattress, a wet eye opened on the room, when she hears him move, then sees something at the edge of the bed.

 

A hand. 

 

His hand. 

 

He's extending it to her, his palm turned to the ceiling. 

 

And for the longest time, he remains like that.

He remains like that, even though she doesn't make the slightest move to it. She stays silent, apart from her sniffling. Perfectly still. 

 

He keeps his hand there. At reach.

 

She tries not to let new sobs take her ---

 

-but finally surrenders, bringing a trembling hand, wet with her tears, to put it in his. Barely holding it.

 

 _It's okay_ , because he gladly does all the work, holding it almost with hunger, desperation, relief. Trying hard not to crush her fingers. 

Not pulling on her hand, just keeping it in his. 

 

And staying like that, as if he could possibly spend the night this way. 

 

And they'll never know if he can.

 

Because a few minutes later, she gets out of bed, legs shaking, willing herself to stop crying. He looks up at her, still.

 

And she lies down next to him on the floor, bashfully snuggling against him. He doesn't dare breathing, and puts his arms around her.

 

Holding her so tight it hurts, badly -her arms, her back, her ribs.

 

...she'd give anything to feel like this for the rest of her life. 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=axrqVfuGHh0


	14. Philosophy      ( Fun )

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ..............soooo, yea.  
>  I misjudged how many chapters total this story needs again.  
> We'll need one more guys, my bad. 
> 
> Thank you all for reading <3

 

 

The sun's not too high. Ben didn't oversleep.

 

He usually doesn't.

 

He gets out of his cabin, and puts his boots on. 

 

The first thing he looks at is the station. He puts a hand above his eyes between him and the sun to be able to see, frowning. 

A glance at her cabin.

He doesn't see her. 

 

But then, she'd have to be out of his sight, meaning in front of the station.

It makes sense. She's here to do a job. He forgets sometimes. 

 

He ignores the knot in his stomach. 

 

When he wakes up, twenty minutes earlier, he doesn't find her in bed next to him, but that's hardly a surprise. 

For the past couple of weeks she's been systematically waking up before him. 

He tries not to go into why that is, when in the beginning he would always wake up first. 

 

He doesn't remember right away what he asked her the night before, as they were about to fall asleep. 

First, he remembers her skin under his tongue, her mewls in his ear, the rolls of her hips, and her confusion when he very literaly kissed her ass. It's all mashed in a mess of sensations that only makes him want to do it all again right the minute he opens his eyes.

 

But then, she's not in bed with him. 

And he's come to associate daylight with her absence and silence. 

 

...and what a contrast that reality makes in comparison to the colors he woke up with. 

 

That's when he hears himself. 

 

_Don't avoid me tomorrow. Don't ignore me._

 

He winces, running a hand across his face.

 

Why would he do that? ...when all it does, is that he's got no choice now but to take her next move as a direct response to his request. When before, he could somewhat pretend her behavior wasn't intentional. 

Even, that it was harmless.

 

He's in front of the station. 

 

And would you know it? She's not here. 

 

One thing he failed to prepare himself for, would be how different it would feel to have her being absent and silent, while he made clear to her that he wanted her to be with him. 

 

Everything hurts less when it's left unsaid. People can pretend there's a misunderstanding. He could have just shut the  _fuck up_   _and take it._

 

He didn't, and now he has to deal with the aftermaths. 

 

Because he couldn't wait, apparently. He wanted her to show that she cared, like he shows that he does.

Somehow he's always bought into the fact that he's never cared much about reciprocity. His mother wouldn't give back a tenth of the tenderness he would show her as a kid, and his father would give him even less than that.

It can hardly be that he reached his limit with Rey, can it?

 

He's in front of the station. 

She's nowhere to be found. 

 

He walks back to his cabin, surprised at the calm demeanor he's able to pull off. But he's already thinking. 

 

After noticing she was pulling away, a couple of weeks ago, he let her.

He stopped trying to go and find her, because he would always be met with a silence treatment of some kind, and  _then_ , she started hiding completely all together.

 

And he's not the kind to go beg so openly for the interest of someone who's trying so hard not to show any.

 

So he doesn't knock at the station's door, he doesn't knock at her cabin's door, he doesn't call her name. 

It must have had something to do with _pride_.

 

In that moment, for some reason, he doesn't feel  _too_  hurt. 

 

He even finds it strange that he doesn't, because her behavior has been hurting him  _much, much more_  than he'd like to admit the past few days, in ways he never imagined it would.

Only the day before, he found himself obsessing over it, trying to make it about anger and entitlement when really he realizes quickly that it all boils down to self-doubt.

 

And he doesn't like that it's that  _easy_  for her to make him doubt himself, and he really tries to remember that she surely doesn't mean to.

She doesn't mean for him to hurt. 

 

He still has to come to terms with the fact that he's hurt all the same. 

 

But maybe because his first impulse, this time, is to  _rationalize_ the situation, in that moment, when he doesn't find her anywhere outside the station where she ought to be, he's not too hurt by it. 

 

It's still early, and he won't admit it to himself, but despite that he's been shown time and time again that not finding her in the morning is a bad sign, he can't help but hope that she might show up at some point during the day. 

It makes being patient much easier. And it eases the pain, too. 

 

Also, he had to know that it wouldn't take a simple demand -order, suggestion, plea, whatever name he'd like to call it -to make her available, like he is for her. People don't change like that.

Some people don't change at all, even. 

 

So he decides to leave it alone.

He walks back to his cabin, lips pressed tight, confusingly knowing deep down that he's not gonna go to the forest today. 

That he's gonna wait, like a good boy, for her to show up.

 

No, he's not too touched by her disinterest like he's been at times.

 

...but he should have known better, than to think that it was going to last. 

 

He's back at his cabin. Time passes by  _slowly_.

 

Several times he manages to find a distraction in the lamb. He picks up a book, read a page. 

Then reread that same page ten times, because none of its content registers.

He can't focus. 

 

Later on, he finds out he can't eat.

 

Because that's what happens, when he's left to his own thoughts.  

The situation gets turned upside down and inside out in his head, again and again. He scans all possibilities, tries to justify things that become hard to justify, trying to find reasons that are hard to find, in an attempt to get comfort in small things -instead of finding that comfort in her.

 

Finding out he's starting to be really short on said comfort. His cabin feels small. He's never paid any mind to the heat, but right about now, he can't stand it. 

 

No matter what, she  _must_  not mean it. She  _must_  care. She  _must_ \--

 

_-shemustshemustshemust---_

 

 _Oh, the idiot_.

He thought he was so  _cool_ , so contained. 

But how can he stay serene and collected, patient and unworried, when all he has to fill in the gaps is silence? Indifference?

 

When he asks her to be there, to stop ignoring him, to stop avoiding him, is it really about making her finally  _reveal_  her affection?

 

...or is he trying to make her like him in the first place?

 

Slowly, he doesn't know anymore.

 

Given enough time, any woman or man can doubt their own name. 

 

All it takes is for that person to wonder  _long enough._ But everyone has a limit. He's not aware, in that moment, that he's finding that out. 

 

Ben's not the type to overthink life. He doesn't care about  _philosophy_ , and he's all about simple things. 

 

But he  _does_  overthink this. 

In fact, he gives it the proportions it needs to swallow him whole. He doesn't even understand that it's happening when it happens. In no time, the difficult questions are on repeat in his head. 

 

And his answers, at first, are confident, of course. 

They speak for his certainty, or what he perceives to be certain. 

Until they only start to sound...  _strange_. 

 

_Why isn't she here?_

Because she's emotionally immature.

_Why isn't she here?_

Because she's stubborn. 

_Why isn't she here?_

_\---I don't know._  

_Why isn't she here?_

Because she doesn't want to?

_Why isn't she here?_

Because she doesn't care?

_Why isn't she here?_

...because she doesn't like him. 

 

His perception of what happened and what's happening gets blurry. Thoughts get disorganized. 

 

_...wasn't it a simple request on his part? ...why isn't she here? Why is it so hard for her to be around him?_

 

Doesn't he deserve that much, in her opinion? 

Can she even stand him, at this point, to be avoiding him that pointedly, when now he's  _specifically_  asked her to stop?

 

Hours pass, and he's stuck on an ugly idea, that makes his mouth frown, purse, that makes him bite the inside of his cheek, that makes his heart beat faster: did he get it all wrong?

 

Is it that simple?

 

Does she even care? ...he was so sure she did. 

He was so sure. So sure. 

 

When he knows she's done this before -when he knows that, if she ignores him during daytime, she's always come to him at night; now, he's starting to doubt she will.

 

_...no Guard has ever been good news._

_They're vicious, emotionally crippled, and dangerous -he doesn't care about their shitty upbringings._

 

The night falls, and she hasn't been out at all. 

 

He's been fed his share of shaming for crying when he was little. Maz was the only one to try and soothe him.

He knows that the fact that he would cry easily, was one of the reasons why she would look at him like he was the most special boy on earth -especially when he'd cry because his mother hunted rabbits for them to eat.  

At eight years old, he had already learned to cry in silence, and he was just learning that he also needed to hide to do so, as his parents would only roll their eyes at him. 

 

"We do need to eat, don't we?" Han would comment.

 

But Maz, she would come and find him.

Under the table. Under the bed. Perched in a tree. Behind a rock.

 

Crying silently. Hiding his face.

 

She'd crawl, climb, dodge, and get to him. She'd lift up his chin, wipe off the tears, and press his wet face to her heart, stroking his hair. And when others would order him to stop whining, she'd go the opposite way.

"My flower.  _Please_  cry."

She'd kiss his nose, his forehead.

 

"...that rabbit needs someone to mourn him."

 

He stops fighting it just as it's getting dark. 

A fist on his sealed lips, sitting on his bed his back against the wall, silent and perfectly still as he looks at the door, he lets his eyes burn, and the tears fall, his face deceptively expressionless. 

He's not even crying because of the day that just passed, that he spent alone. 

 

He's crying, because he can't help but think she won't come tonight. He has a feeling that she won't, and no matter how hard he tries to push it down, it doesn't go away, just makes it harder to breathe. 

He hurts; he's frustrated; and he's trying to resign himself to that idea already, as he's more and more certain that he's right. She won't come.

 

No matter what, what's real is that he can't, won't see her -can't touch her, can't be in the same room as her after today. Can't fucking stand the idea of being near her, after she made a point of demonstrating how little she wanted to be near him.

So he locked the door. 

 

He cries so quietly. Without making as much as the faintest sound, swallowing down any noise. That much hasn't changed since he was a child. 

The only exception would be Maz's death - _Tulip's death_. He cried like he was fighting against it that day.

 

That's not the case now. 

Right now, he's crying like someone who fucking gave up. 

 

When he has no tears left inside, he turns on the light, and continues to stare at the door. 

The lamb is grunting, neck strained toward him, standing on its back legs, its front legs kicking the mattress - asking to be pet. 

 

Ben doesn't move. 

His eyes are swollen, his cheeks salty, sticky. 

 

He wonders what his days are gonna be like, now. Not planning exactly, but trying to consider where he would go; where he  _could_  go. 

Surely he can't stay here. 

 

And just as he thinks that, he hears her.

From quite afar. Her bare feet padding. 

It's a faint sound but he'd recognize it anytime. He's attuned to it. 

 

He holds his breath. 

It's getting closer.

 

Then silence. 

He looks at the door, mouth slightly open, focused, completely still. 

 

She pulls on the doorknob. 

 

Not too insistently. Just a pull. Then a second, less confident one just after.

 

Then silence again.

 

The lamb has lifted its head up, alert from under the table where it lied down.

 

...he can't breathe.

He's imagined he'd feel relieved, happy, hopeful, reassured --  _anything_  ---

 

\--anything but the raging anger that pierces through him.

 

Can't breathe. Can't breathe.

 

His face contorts. He brings his fists to his head, shutting his eyes hard, clenching his jaw, feeling his whole face burning, his fists tightening, digging his nails in his own palms. 

 

Struggling to keep perfectly silent until she goes away. 

Mercifully, she doesn't wait too long before doing so.

 

When she's well gone, he lets out ragged sounds, bending, his fists trembling, breathing hard as if he had kept his head under water  _the whole day_. New tears, fueled by anger this time, fill his eyes. 

 

When all he wanted a minute ago was for her to come, show a sign that she wasn't done with him, now he can't see straight because of how  _furious_  he is.  

 

He's up, pacing because he can't stay still anymore. The lamb is visibly alarmed.

 

_How dare she? How dare she???_

 

He's never been more angry and  _desperate_  in his entire life.  _What will it fucking take?_

 

He doesn't know how long it takes him to calm down, meaning to  _breathe at a normal pace_  again, but after some time, he does.

 

Then starts packing a bunch of shit. 

 

He doesn't know how long he'll be gone, but just in case, he packs for several days, whatever that means, given that he doesn't own much in the first place. 

A few cans, the smaller blanket of the two he owns, the lamp, two books. 

 

He has to get away from her. 

He'll leave, then will come back whenever he'll feel more sane. 

 

Knowing how sick he is over her, he knows he'll probably won't be able to stay away for more than a day. 

But on the off chance that he's actually strong, and not  _that_  subjected to his emotions - _as if--_ \- he prepares for longer than that. 

 

He doesn't even try and pretend like there's a chance he'll sleep -why bother?

He doesn't want to see her, not that he would, since she'd obviously stay hidden, like the fucking vampire she is, so instead of waiting until morning, which would be the rational thing to do, he leaves when it's still dark. 

 

He walks to the station. Crosses the road. 

 

\---then slows down very progressively --his feet coming to a stop. 

 

The lamb, that was already ahead, comes back trotting to him. 

 

Ben looks back at the station.

He remains like that for maybe a good minute.

 

Listening to a small voice inside. 

 

He closes his eyes, willing his best self to take over and shut down said voice. 

But the truth is he doesn't fight it too long -nor too vigorously either. 

 

Very suddenly, before he backs down and changes his mind, he bends to catch the lamb, but it steps away, scared by the abruptness of his movements. It's not used to him acting this way. 

He gritts his teeth, impatient, and finally puts his hands on it, picking it up promptly, before rushing to one of the greenhouses, the animal under one arm, the bag on the other shoulder.

 

He enters in a hurry, and lets himself down to sit there, breathless. 

 

Like he's a little boy again, and he's doing something he shouldn't. 

 

He waits there. 

And even though he's not moving, his heart is beating furiously. He can't exactly pinpoint why. 

Or rather, he doesn't want to find out why. 

 

There's no chance she'll get out anymore today than she did yesterday. 

 

...but if she does---

 

He doesn't see things further ahead. And he doesn't want to think too much. 

 

He dozes off, sitting, his head falling back against the wall of the greenhouse.

 

When he opens his eyes again, the sun is rising. 

He wakes up to the sound of screaming. 

 

"Solo?? _Solo!!_ "

 

The lamb jumps up.

His blood turns cold, his eyes open wide.

 

She screams his name again, and he hears sobbing - _loud sobbing._  

 

The lamb baas at that. Not too loud, but enough to remind Ben to hold its mouth to keep it firmly shut, which he does hurriedly before it baas again. 

 

His heart beats uncontrollably again, and he tries to regulate his breathing, holding the lamb close, waiting --waiting for what, he doesn't know.

 

Waiting to calm down. 

He doesn't hear anything else, and  _that_  does calm him down a bit. He closes his eyes, inhaling deeply. 

Her screams fucking echoe in his head. 

 

But he doesn't move. 

 

At some point, though, he's gonna have to get out of that damn greenhouse. 

Not even out of sympathy for her, because he swears, gritting his teeth, that he doesn't have any. He doesn't care. 

 

But he does get out.

He looks for her. She's nowhere.

 

...she distinctively called him this time. 

She can't be far, can she? 

 

He walks to the front of station. Whips his head around, toward her cabin mostly, as he's certain she's back in there. 

He doesn't hear anything. 

The blood still pounding in his ears from her screaming.

 

He glances toward the forest. His hearts skips a beat. 

 

She's  _so, so far ahead_  already, walking determinedly away from him. 

 

He spots her easily despite her form being so small from where he stands, because thank God she's wearing her fucking _bright blue_  coverall.

 

He bolts to catch up to her.

 

Oh yeah.

He  _really_ doesn't care. 

 

His stomach is turned upside down thinking that, had he left,  _she would have left for the forest too._

She would have gotten lost, maybe, alone, unable to find her way back, she would have died of hunger, or God knows what else--- she would have drowned, or fell and cracked her skull open--

 

-and he would have come back, oblivious, only to find her gone.

 

It would have meant the end for both of them.

 

He winces as he gets closer to her. She's entering the forest now. 

 

He's a fucking idiot. 

Such a fucking idiot. 

 

How careless of him. 

 

He doesn't close the distance between them.

He observes her from afar, not even hiding. 

The lamb feels heavy in his arms, but he keeps it there. To be sure it won't run to her as soon as he puts it down. 

 

As she looks up and down, he discovers the forest with her -fully grasping how this must be the first time she's walking in one.

 

They walk a long time like this -a very long time in fact, but he must not feel like she has suffer enough, maybe, because he doesn't call her, he doesn't stop her. 

 

As some point though, he lowers his gaze to the ground for a few seconds, without meaning to, and when he looks back up, she disappeared.

A rush of panic washes over him, eyes wide -until he spots her again.

 

She's crossing the river recklessly, despite the current being quite strong. 

He frowns. 

But when he looks up, he sees a cabin.

 

For some reason, that's when he finally decides it's not _fun_ anymore, apparently. 

 

He doesn't know it yet, but the fun for him has just begun.

 

 

> _"Dreamers,  
>  _ _They never learn  
>  _ _They never learn._
> 
> _Beyond the point,  
>  _ _Of no return  
>  _ _Of no return._
> 
> _Then it's too late,  
>  _ _The damage is done  
>  _ _The damage is done."_

> **Radiohead - _Daydreaming_**

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TTAU7lLDZYU


	15. Prayers and promises

 

 

She'll have to stop wearing her blue coveralls, because it makes them vulnerable, easy to spot, but they don't have any other clothes for her yet, beside his own. He might get her to wear them. With a few adjustements, they could make it work.  

As days pass, it's quickly a quiet understanding between them that they'll never go back to that fucking station. 

It's a  _quiet understanding_ , because they don't speak. Or rather, he'll speak to her, and she'll ignore him. 

 

Oh but he did it. He can be proud. 

_She follows him everywhere._

Actually, she won't leave him out of her sight. 

 

His little trick worked  _wonderfully_. 

 

Nevermind that she won't touch him, or talk to him. 

 

He'd like to think that she pointedly refuses to, but it might be worse than that. He suspects she rather physically  _can't_. 

 

Like it's beyond her control. 

Apart from that first night they spent lying in each other's arms on the floor, she's stayed away from him since he told her the truth. 

In their small bed, she manages to place herself in a way where no part of her is in contact with him, which is impressive. If he tries to get closer, she pushes him away without a word. 

 

That's his personal hell. To know that he's the direct reason why, for instance, she doesn't sleep, or barely. 

It used to be the opposite. There used to be a time where he was exactly the reason why she  _could_  finally sleep, and he made the exploit to overturn that completely. 

She turns in the bed, and turns, and turns, and her restlessness won't let him sleep either. 

She can't relax, she can't let go. 

 

Afraid that, in the morning, he'll be gone. 

 

All day, she's exhausted, brought to the very limits of her being. But no matter where he goes, she goes. 

Regularly, flashes of panic wake her up good. If she dozes off and he's not directly in her sight when she reopens her eyes, she straightens suddenly like a dog on the hunt, only to huff silently when her eyes find him. 

 

On several occasions he sees her fall asleep  _head first in her titanium plate,_ the few times they choose to eat sitting at the small table inside the cabin. Something that he thought could only happen in stories people tell children. The sight is objectively endearing.

Yet it doesn't make him smile. At all. 

And when she wakes up startled, she stands up abruptely before her shoulders sag when she realizes he's here, usually right next to her.

 

Other than those obvious signs of distress, she displays quite the calm demeanor as long as he's here, simply observing him, and following him, and petting  _Grasshopper_. 

A name he gets to know about on accident, hearing her voice for the first time in days, as she lets it slip unintentionally one afternoon as the lamb unties her shoelace for the fifth time. 

It hurts that he hears about it because she was  _talking to the fucking lamb_ , and not specifically telling him. She might have actually liked that, under other circumstances: telling him about the name she chose for it. 

He can't exactly make any complaints anymore though, now, can he?  

 

He wants to make something out of a bad situation. So while she doesn't talk to him, or touch him, he still wants to teach her how to fish. 

How he's been taught anyway. Without any fishing rod.

He tells her what she can use as a bait, how to secure it to the line; he tells her about patience. Tells her how to choose a spot where she'll most likely catch a fish. 

With very few words, and stuttering at times, cutting his sentences. Naturally. 

She doesn't react in any way, but he knows she's listening. 

They're both crouching next to each other, eyes on the river. 

He makes her hold the line. 

 

"Don't move," he says, standing up, as she looks up at him, "we need wood," and he turns, to go and see if he can find some tree branches that are dry enough, some wood that can burn easily. 

He doesn't make two steps before she stands in a rush, realizing he intends to walk away, far too away to her liking, and she can't keep in a panicked "No!", the first word she adresses him since she yelled at him that first night, ordering him to sleep on the floor.

And in her haste, she lets go of the line. 

 

His eyes go wide.

 

He rushes in the water to retrieve it before the current takes it, because thankfully he hasn't lost sight of it. 

When he has it in hand, he lets out a heavy sigh of relief, and gets out of the water.

 

He looks at her.

He knows better than to scold her. 

She's standing there, chin tucked in, unable to meet his eyes. 

 

He knows that she  _knows_  he won't leave. Her reactions aren't rational, but she can't help it. 

He'd like to remind her that, actually,  _he never left_ , but he's not a hypocrite, nor an idiot: he made it way too real for her that day. He crumbles under the guilt.

Yet he refuses to regret what he's done. They go find some wood together. 

 

The next day, they're eating outdoor, in front of the cabin, and she falls asleep  _on the ground._

He wants to run his fingers in her hair so badly.

To keep from doing so, he tries to find something to do. A rake and a shovel are leaning against the wall on the side of the cabin. So he settles for digging the soil behind the cabin. 

Suddenly wondering if they could grow a garden there. 

He didn't have in mind to start one at all, and he's not sure he would know how to. And once he starts, despite of how small and unpractical are the tools, it's hard for him to stop. 

 

Except when he hears her scream, that is. 

 

_"BEN !!!"_

 

His heart sinks and he drops everything, immediately shouting " _Here !!_ " -before running to her.

She's been asleep for an hour only, and he thought he'd have more time. He finds her in tears, her face turned away, shifting from one foot to the other. 

She winces, hugging her own small body, with red eyes and a wet face. 

 

When he approaches her she takes two steps aside, visibly furious at him. 

He doesn't force it, and stops where he is. 

 

Swallowing the lump in his throat, his head down, his hand shaking. 

 

He's stuck. He can't stand to see her cry, but he can't comfort her either.

Eventually, he turns to go back to the work he started. 

 

...while she silently follows him there, hurt written all over her face.

 

That same night, he finds it's lasted long enough.

The silence is solid between them, but not so heavy that they would feel alone.

It's filled with insects' chants, crickets and cicadas. The weak crack of a twig under the weight of a rabbit.

The trees are more spattered around the cabin, so the glow of the moon still make it through the window at night, when it's full. The sound of the river is reduced to a faint and quiet gargle from their bed.

As usual, he shamelessly takes off his clothes in front of her to put on his undershirt and pants, while she on the other hand undresses too but very bashfully, down to her tank top and underwear, sitting on the bed, hiding under the blanket and struggling with it.

She lies down, and like she always does, she turns her back to him, facing the wall, leaving as much room in the bed as she can to be sure that their bodies won't touch.

He exhales quietly through his nose, his jaw set. Regardless, he won't say anything. 

 

But in the hope that it'll bring some kind of reaction, that it'll get her out of her silence -if not tonight then the following nights when he'll do it again- instead of climbing into bed with her, he lies down on the floor, on his back. Then he turns off the lamp placed next to his head. 

 

The room goes dark. 

 

He thought she might not react the very first time he'd do this, or that there would be some hesitation from her, some confusion, and he supposes she is confused when he hears her move in the blanket, but there isn't much hesitation after that. 

He sees her form in the dark bend over the edge of the bed, reaching for the lamp. 

She turns the light on, her wrist brushing his hair.

 

She's scowling, her eyes squinting at the sudden brightness, before they adjust and she's looking  _straight at him_  for the first time in days. 

He looks back at her blinking, unable to hide his surprise. 

 

"What are you doing?" 

 

Her confronting him is something that he expected so little, that he's caught off guard for a second or two. She spoke with an even voice, an absolute certainty, like she legitimately owns the right to question his choice, or know the reasons behind his every decisions.

In comparison, his voice is low, but soft -small, even. 

"Giving you space," is what he settles for.

She's still looking at him, like he isn't finished. His heart is pounding, but he works his jaw, and manages to articulate another explanation: 

 

"You don't seem to like ha-a" -he drags out the syllable without meaning to, his throat constricting, and he has to stop. He swallows, inhales, before finishing, lower:

"---having me next to you."

 

She's visibly hurt by that. She counters that hurt with an even sharper tone, even though it's easy to hear the plea behind it. 

 

"Come into bed." 

 

He's defiant again -irritated. Even if the tone of his voice is a patient one.

"Why?"

 

She disappears from his sight, rolling to the other side of the bed. To him, that's a sign that she won't speak again. 

He's about to turn the light back off, when he hears:

 

"...this way I'll know if you get up... and leave -because I'll feel the mattress move."

 

He closes his eyes, reining in the frustration, trying to kill the hurt before it chokes him. It's not exactly clear what he means when he says what he says next, not even to himself, but he can't keep it in, and it gets out through gritted teeth, barely above a whisper:

"Stop it."

 

She hears it. And somehow, she still understands what's being said.

 

"I'm not doing it on purpose!" She protests with a strangled voice, and he presses his lips tight, as he knows that much to be true. 

 

Still there's a long silence that follows, where he finds he can't move -he doesn't know what's best to do, what strategy there is out there, to get out of this situation. 

But she forcefully pulls him out of those tergiversations when she fumes, still out of his sight:

 

" _Should I beg??_ "

 

That prompts him to get up; slowly, with a clenched jaw, but he does, before pointedly staring at her, standing in front of the bed.

She follows him with her eyes, wincing, upset and furious that she had to ask twice, or that he even comtemplated sleeping somewhere else than in the bed in the first place, and she then hurries to decidedly turn her back to him again, lying down the exact same way she did five minutes ago. 

 

He represses what would have been a sharp, harsh exhale. 

 

_The little shit._

 

"I'll sleep here, if you face me."

 

He's surprised he didn't have to pause, that he didn't hesitate -the words were begging to plainly get out. 

He's not about to give in to her without negociating. 

 

She visibly tenses, but all in all she doesn't put on a show; she doesn't wait  _too much_  before rolling on her other side and readjusting -avoiding his stare, and still scowling.

 

He pulls on the blanket, catching a glimpse of her belly, her panties and her thighs, not trying to act even a little bit like he's disinterested, and lies down, facing her. 

Having her so close, yet so distant is making it really hard for him to breathe properly -or even enough to get a sound out.

"Let me," he hears himself say. She's looking somewhere at the pillow. He can't tell if the crease on her forehead is one of frustration or plain sadness anymore -it just might be both. 

 

"Please," he murmurs.  

 

" _Please what?_ " she asks, trying to play out impatience, but a tremor in her lip betrays something else. 

 

To him it's still a sound that twists the knife. She looks at him then.

 

"I---" his throat gets tortuously tight, keeping the words in. He looks down, blinking, bitter, before staring at her straight in the eyes, forcing other words out instead -shifting closer to her, his voice gruff.

 

" _Let me kiss your cunt._ " 

 

He's trying to be blunt. To shock her. Get a reaction out of her. Anything other than indifference. 

 

But she doesn't react the way he expected her to -she doesn't open her mouth in shock, or hit him, push him, or yell at him - she just looks at him with the saddest frown of her mouth... and her eyes are shining. 

 

He realizes it's because a tear is rolling on the side of his nose. 

He wipes it off with a brush of his thumb, eyes cast down, swallowing. 

 

The crickets are still chanting.

 

Things cannot be more awkward now, so it's not an easy task to find something to say that can beat that, as he's trying to come up with a request she won't say no to -a request that can throw her off enough that she'll somewhat let her guard down. Doesn't matter if it makes no sense at this point. He feels like there isn't much hope anyway.

And he still can't own it completely, so he's whispering again.

 

"Can I touch your nose?"

 

Deliberately using the word  _touch_ , instead of the one he should use. 

A few seconds pass where, as expected, she doesn't know what exactly she's deliberating about, why exactly she's hesitating, or maybe she does -- she avoids his stare, and if she particularly pays attention to his hand, she doesn't say---

\--as his fingertips barely settle on her waist. She must be able to feel his breath on her cheek. She turns her head on the side, into the pillow.

 

Nodding. 

 

Acting before she changes her mind, he slowly approaches his face to hers, relishing in the possibility he gets to smell her, inhaling quietly as her face is an inch away from his, his heart thundering. 

His thumb slides underneath her tank top, and he feels her stomach flinch slightly.

He can hear how her breathing got shaky, but she doesn't move, letting it happen. 

 

He presses a tender peck on the wing of her nose. She does her best not to shiver.

He then brushes his lips on her cheek, very lightly to bring them on her lips, leaving them there, breathing on them, barely touching, _not pressing them_. 

"Can I kiss you?" he asks with a breathy voice, delighting in the fact that she hasn't pulled away, that he has her there. He shifts his body closer -so close to her. His mouth is already on her mouth, barely grazing.

"Can I?" he asks again on her mouth, mainly because asking makes his heart pound even more, and he's hard just from that -from the fact that he's asking when really, they both know there's no need anymore. 

She certainly feels there's no need -she just looks in his eyes, chest heaving, her back  _slowly, ever so slowly_  arching. 

 

The kiss that follows barely qualifies as a peck; releasing her lips, he doesn't part, and asks on her mouth again:

"Can I?"

-repeating it a few times, his voice low from the lack of air, asking _if he can kiss her in between small, full kisses_ , wetting her a bit more each time as she tries not to squirm too much--

 

"Please", he whispers--sucking on her lips when she closes her eyes --

 

" _I'm sorry_ ", he breathes, finally sliding his tongue in then, inhaling sharply, deepening a lazy kiss, with a satisfied groan when she rolls her hips against him.  

 

His hand caresses its way up her side, slowly --ending in a squeeze on her breast. 

She hums in his mouth, flushed.

 

He finally feels like he can breathe, despite his heart being out of control.

 

They doze off naked, hot, their bodies pressed together, her face in his neck.

 

She's the first one to fall asleep. 

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

Months have passed, and Ben still fears Rey might doubt him sometimes.

 

She doesn't show it, and she doesn't say anything, but at times it seems to him that she keeps thoughts and questions inside that would hurt them both. 

He's short on ways to assure her that he can't live without her. In fact, if she was attentive, she'd have noticed that his infatuation with her has continuously gotten worse over time. If someone takes her away -or she decides she's had enough of him, he's  _done_. 

 

She ends up taking better care of the sheep than him. They often nap together, Grasshopper and her, when he fishes. She rests her head on the belly of the animal. He can tell it's uncomfortable for her, but she persists to do it, her neck aching afterwards. And when Ben kisses her once the nap is over,  _she stinks_.

 

With a kiss, he tries to have her nearer, closer, he tries to make them one --he kisses her, umprompted, and at the most inopportune times. It's never cute, or satisfying, or well executed.

It's awkward, desperate. Clumsy.

True, surely.

 

The doubts she keeps secret, and the fears he hides all overlap in a mess of silent tension between them that always leave them needing relief.

They don't deny each other that relief anymore.  

 

He's determined to counter their insecurities. At times, he's saying in her ear impulsively, panting, sweating, when his ways are particularly obscene and he's being rough, when he fucks her into the bed without much care; he says to her with gritted teeth, in between her cries, as she bounces under him:

"I will  _never_ \--- leave -----you will  _never_ \-- _get rid of me_."

 

He tries to act territorial, possessive, but his fear -along with his guilt -makes it sound like he's praying for it.

 

He makes her come time and time again to his promises. 

 

Along the way, blessedly, she stops being surprised that he kisses her. She stops widening her eyes when he undresses her. She stops averting her gaze when he tells her he loves her.

 

She  _expects_  his attention. 

 

She also gives it back. 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ef1nJWtkprU
> 
> "Today you were far away  
> and I didn't ask you why
> 
> What could I say  
> I was far away  
> You just walked away  
> and I just watched you
> 
> How close am I to losing you
> 
> Tonight you just close your eyes  
> and I just watch you  
> slip away  
> How close am I to losing you
> 
> Hey, are you awake  
> Yeah I'm right here  
> Well can I ask you about today
> 
> How close am I to losing you  
> How close am I to losing-"

**Author's Note:**

> You guys, I have a [tumblr](https://ao3animal.tumblr.com/) and a [twitter](https://twitter.com/ao3animal)  
> You can find infos there if you're looking for ways to support me
> 
> Say hi =)
> 
> (And here's the [spotify playlist of this fic!](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/5N0uwwSBeeDqmdDYUJ1Ldi))


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